


The Light Beyond The Shadow

by countesszero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countesszero/pseuds/countesszero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the end of war, Lucius and Severus meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Slip The Dogs of War

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2011 (?) for a Severus Sighs Challenge.
> 
> Theme: Quest  
> Prompt:  
> Part 1: Let Slip The Dogs of War  
> Part 2: Death Be Not Proud
> 
> Thank you to my betas: Mousehounde and Starduchess and Conzieu.
> 
> Many thanks to moderators Whitecotton and Raewhit for organising Severus Sighs Challenge 2010.
> 
> * * *

**Part 1**  
 __  
am very bothered when I think  
of the bad things I have done in my life.  
Not least that time in the chemistry lab  
when I held a pair of scissors by the blades  
and played the handles  
in the naked lilac flame of the Bunsen burner  
then called your name, and handed them over.  
O the unrivalled stench of branded skin  
as you slipped your thumb and middle finger in,  
then couldn't shake off the two burning rings. Marked,  
the doctor said, for eternity.  
Don't believe me, please, if I say  
that was just my butterfingered way, at thirteen,  
of asking you to marry me. 

_by Simon Armitage_

_**Winter 1979** _

_In the end all he could feel was relief._

_Severus had waited long enough for this moment, anticipated it with childish, helpless fear, then with a strange stubborn fatalism and in the end with a numb pain that he identified as guilt when Voldemort called him back after a meeting._

_"Do you remember the last conversation we had in this room?" asked his Lord softly, standing in front of the fire, the way he did often in the colder months. The Dark Lord did not like the cold._

_He nodded._

_"You lied to me,” stated Voldemort, turning to look at him._

_Severus remained quiet. The sound of a log crackling in the flames made him almost jump. The fear that he thought gone crept back into his mind but also the guilt. He had betrayed the only man he ever looked up to, the man who had shown him what strength, power and courage was._

_"What do you think?" Voldemort asked lightly. "Did our wayward friend manage to run far enough? Where do you think might he be now?"_

_He sighed._

_"I apologise. I must seem cruel to you." He cocked his head. "I know I sometimes am. Not as unfeeling as our friend Lucius can be sometimes but ... still, I know my faults."_

_He moved gracefully to the end of the long conference table and sat down. The black, immaculately polished surface reminded Severus of the surface of the Black Lake._

_Severus remained standing near the flickering fire, at a respectful distance. Almost dispassionately he observed his own feelings. Voldemort was so skilled in steering them, like a puppeteer. It was not a disadvantage to have a leader who knew the human soul, he reminded himself. It only chagrined him that Voldemort's words awakened so much in him, were able to get past his defences so easily, that he knew so well how to speak to him, how to make Severus feel whatever he wanted him to feel._

_Mostly he knew that he was the Dark Lord’s most trusted soldier, his advisor and confidante. Maybe even his friend. But then at times, in moments like this, he could not help the nagging feeling that he was only another puppet dancing on his Lord’s strings._

_"I miss him, too," Voldemort whispered._

_Severus turned around sharply._

_"You think I do not feel affection?" Voldemort laughed bitterly. "I remember the day Regulus came to me. I remember his face when he said he believed in me, when he swore the oath of loyalty and took the Mark and told me he would never abandon me. I remember all of this as if it were yesterday. Do you really believe that betrayal does not cause me pain?"_

_He laid his hands on the table._

_"It was your right to lie, Severus. You were acting out of loyalty, and I know you didn't mean to betray me. I still trust you more than anyone else."_

_Severus closed his eyes._

_"Yet, I have no other choice."_

_All of a sudden Voldemort was so close, his breath felt hot on his neck._

_"Do you understand?" Voldemort cupped Severus face and turned it around so he could stare directly into his eyes. They were unsettling as always; black, with liquid, molten gold in them, inviting him to fall into their gaze. Sometimes a red light flared deep inside of them, but Severus could not be sure if that was a trick of the light or the reflection of the flames from the fireplace._

_"I have to punish you. Some of the others already believe I am far too lenient with you, believe I favour you. I do not need to tell you how very dangerous such an idea is. I cannot afford to have favourites. I love you like a son, but I cannot let the others see that. It would put your life at risk."_

_"I understand," Severus said._

_He truly did._

_"I am sorry," he whispered._

_"I know."_

_Severus knelt down. "Please, forgive me."_

_"I already did." Voldemort laid his hand on Severus’ head. They remained still for several minutes before Voldemort withdrew his hand and gathered his heavy woollen robes._

_"I have to call in the others now. As usual I will not be present but Malfoy ... he will do it. Since he is a friend of yours, I trust he won't hurt you."_

_Severus said nothing to that. He remained kneeling, looking at the wooden boards, his hands on his lap. He closed his eyes in defeat._

_Then, Voldemort turned and left the room.  
_

 

**2009**

Severus Snape idly held a can of peaches in his hands while attempting to peek through the long Friday night queue at the tall man working at the checkout.

He was working fast, obviously used to this line of work, as he was hastily scanning in the items and packing them with skilled hands. His movements were precise and nearly elegant, but he never looked at the customers. Now and then Severus could see his lips move, when one of the customers asked him something. As far as Severus could see the man answered politely if hastily. He didn't sneer the way he had in the past.

Another employee called out. As the checker turned to answer, Severus saw his face. His eyes, once silver and shining with arrogance and pride, were grey and listless. He could see the thin lips pressed into a tired line. His hair was shorter, the silken mane that had caught the sunlight so many years ago was dull and tied into a pony tail with a grey rubber band.

Severus could not tell if the man had seen him. The man he used to know would have felt his presence, the characteristics of his magic. The man at the counter though was busy scanning apples and didn't probably even see the face of the large, bearded customer right in front of him.

Severus found himself in the queue shuffling toward the man's cash register. The handbag of the woman before him started to sing "The Girl from Ipanema" and she cursed. She fumbled with her bag, rummaging around in it for her keys, then found her mobile phone.

"I am still at Tesco's ... this guy's taking forever," she snapped into the phone. She listened to someone speaking on the other end then continued. "Well, if I am ever going to get out of here before retirement, I'll let you know!"

After the impatient woman paid for her shopping, all the while tapping with her left foot which the man at the checkout graciously ignored, it was his turn and he put the can onto the conveyor belt.

"That’ll be seventy-five pence, please," the man said, not looking at Severus. Severus gave him a pound and was immediately handed the change. Severus began to wonder if he had recognised or even seen him.

The tag on his uniform read "Leo Williams".

"Have a good day, Mr. Williams," he said as he snatched his shopping bag that the employee held up for him. He didn't wait to see if the man looked up or turned to watch his retreating back.

 

He waited two weeks before he went back. The tall man with the ponytail was at another till this time. It was less busy and he was moving less hastily. He even seemed to chat a little with the customers, smiling at them and joking with the woman at the cash register behind him.

Again, he took a can of peaches and queued up. When he was standing in front of Williams, he said, "Malfoy."

Malfoy looked up only briefly then went back to packing the can. "That'll be seventy-five pence, please," and then he added, "Do you want a bag-for-life with that or just a plastic one, sir?"

Severus blinked.

"When do you finish work here?" he asked.

"We're open from nine to eleven p.m.," Malfoy replied, holding up a thin carrier bag.

"I'll pick you up tonight then," said Severus.

Malfoy said nothing but put the can into the bag and handed it over to Severus. He looked into Severus’ eyes and he could see how much the man had aged in these last few years. He was haggard and bony, and his cheeks a little more hollow than he remembered.

Severus managed to smirk coldly before he fled.

At home in his apartment on Diagon Alley he put the can carefully next to the other one in his cupboard. He lingered for a while in the kitchen, standing indecisively beside the table. He still saw Malfoy’s defeated look in his eyes.

"Please," Malfoy had said, and it occurred to him that these days Malfoy must use that word on a daily basis, must be used to humiliating himself, to begging, to saying, “Please, sir," "Please, madam," "Thank you, sir," "Apologies, madam," the whole day long. The thought excited him, ignited a grim flame of desire in him, a hateful lust that he had thought long burned away with the years.

He had waited for this for too long. It seemed his whole adult life had been a silent, wretched yearning for this moment.

_  
**Autumn 1979** _

_He was too late._

_Before he had even reached the perimeter of the wards, Severus knew that he was too late._

_It was all said in the silence of the sun-baked street, the stray dog crouching in the shadows, the closed shop, the way nothing moved at all._

_Everything told him that it was too late, and all he had left to do was to turn around and walk away as fast as he could and not look back._

_Moments later he stood in front of the house that looked no different from all the other Muggle houses on the street. It had the same low wall, the same half-neglected lawn, the same little path leading up to the door._

_The doorknob clicked a little when he opened it, reacting swiftly to his Alohomora._

_Severus pushed the door a little further open, standing frozen on the doorstep. He strained his ears, trying to hear anything._

_Every sense, every nerve in his body screamed at him to run away as he stood there for what he thought to be an eternity, listening to his own fearful heartbeat, his ragged breathing._

_Finally he slid in, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand._

_The air had a crisp, sterile feel to it as if Regulus had cast a charm, which he did frequently to counter the mouldy smell that sometimes emanated from the bathroom and the basement._

_He walked through the narrow, darkened hallway that led to the staircase, his wand ready, as he pressed against the walls. To his left was the living room, which looked deceptively calm and peaceful as if Regulus had only gone upstairs to nap. The record player was still spinning and the soft sht - sht - sht sound of the needle hitting the runout was just audible. He flicked his wand at it, and the needle lifted up and went back to its original position._

_Parchments were strewn across the sofa, an empty cup sat on the floor. The Westminster clock on the mantle was ticking._

_Nothing seemed disrupted._

_The sound of dripping water stopped him short before he remembered the kitchen tap that steadfastly refused all magic and Muggle repair attempts._

_The kitchen was clear. The unused fridge was standing in the corner, fuelled only by Regulus’ magic. An open book was lying face down on the table._

_He opened the storage room, searched the basement, then made his way upstairs._

_The fourth stair on the staircase creaked, and he avoided it, hand on the banister. His shirt was sticking to his sweaty back and he had to wipe moisture from the bridge of his nose._

_The door to Regulus' room was wide open. Severus cocked his head, all his senses alert. Regulus usually kept his room locked as he had always been secretive, nearly paranoid in the last weeks._

_“Regulus,” he said._

_The room was watching him silently as he crossed it to get to Regulus' desk._

_He remembered the spell Reg had told him the last time they had met here. With shaking hands he held the wand over the table and within a moment the little drawer was visible._

_He pulled it open._

_A folded piece of paper was inside and he took it, nearly smirking. With Regulus, seemingly meaningless things bore significance: using Muggle-made ordinary paper and a ball pen itself was a message._

__Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
I am not there. I did not die.

R.A.B. __

_Severus sat there for a long time, looking out of the window._

_It was too late._

_He raised his wand and Incendio’ed the slip of paper, watching grey ash flakes fall onto the desk._

_Slowly he walked down the stairs, through the hallway and out of the house, continuing down the street and around the corner until he was on the main street, not looking right or left or turning back, not caring where he went.  
_

**2009**

Severus Apparated back to London in the late evening hours. In the drunk, gay crowd of youngsters sitting on benches and leaning against the walls, he needn't be overly careful, yet he chose a deserted side street a few streets away from the Tesco to which to Apparate.

He didn't have to wait too long. The door opened and Malfoy slipped out, alone. He wasn't wearing his Tesco uniform any more, only a faded, colourless sweater and grey pants. He looked wearily around and then saw Severus. 

Severus watched him come closer. He wanted to feel triumph, satisfaction, maybe contempt, but all he could feel was this an uncomfortable pity. They should have killed him or given him the Dementor's Kiss. They should have allowed him to take his own life honourably. To condemn him to live without his magic, in this Muggle world for which the likes of Malfoy were not prepared to live, was worse than death. They hadn’t even had the mercy to Obliviate him.

"Shall we go to my place, then?" Malfoy said in that pleasant tone of his. "Or did you have other plans?"

Severus shook his head. He pulled Malfoy between two big garbage containers and Apparated them straight into the side street beside the brick building where Malfoy lived now.

"You know where I live," stated Malfoy without surprise. He leant against the red wall to gather himself until the sensation of Apparating ebbed away, a strangely human gesture, and he didn't seem to care about the griminess of the wall.

There was no lift in Malfoy's building, and they walked up four flights in silence together, Malfoy leading the way. The hallway and staircase were littered with cigarette butts, empty cans and old newspapers. Severus gingerly stepped over the corpse of a grey rat. The walls of the stairways were filthy too, more graffiti, partly racist slurs, partly proud sexual declarations ("George buggered Lisa"). The uneven concrete floor was wet from the rain, and there were puddles. It didn’t escape Severus' notice that Malfoy didn't even avoid them.

The utter indifference to his environment unsettled Severus deeper than he would have imagined. It seemed as if Malfoy had never known another life, a life in which there had been house-elves at his beck and call, where the floor had been carpeted and silken rugs had softened his steps.

Why did he not care?

At the door Malfoy paused. There was no name on it, only the flat number, 401. His jaw muscles worked in a peculiar way, but Severus could not see his eyes in the darkness. To him it seemed as if Malfoy was amused. Then he pulled out his keys and opened the locks on his door. An orange plastic dog was dangling on the key chain, and briefly Severus wondered if someone had given it to him, or if Malfoy himself had bought it.

Severus watched the thin, bony fingers work. The hands were clean but lacked the porcelain smoothness they had once possessed.

"So," Malfoy said conversationally, as they stepped into the flat, "how did you find me?"

"That question is beneath even your low level of intelligence," retorted Severus.

Malfoy locked the door meticulously behind them.

"I was told at the Ministry that I would be untraceable," he said. "I was equipped with new documents."

Severus knew this. Unlike others, Malfoy had not even received any school qualifications with his new identity: for the Muggle world, Leo Williams was an unlearned, uneducated man with a past prison sentence and no skills whatsoever. After all, it would do no good to hand Malfoy any opportunities to claw his way back into Wizarding Society as he undoubtedly would attempt.

"’I was told’," scoffed Severus. "Listen to yourself. Since when did you become so gullible?"

Malfoy only eyed him tiredly but didn’t respond. Severus guessed Malfoy hadn't had a choice other than to believe them.

Severus wished, not for the first time, that the man in front of him would be more defiant, more arrogant, more ... like the Pureblood who had taken his innocence and youth and faith. The selfish boy who had made him, once upon a time, into the bitter, caustic, cynical, cruel remain of a man he was now.

He had been waiting for his revenge, and he would not be cheated out of it. Not today, not again.

"What do you want?" Malfoy asked. When Severus only regarded him blandly, he had his answer. There was no need to say anything. Malfoy didn't pretend to misunderstand. He merely went to the fridge that was opposite the entrance and opened it.

Severus looked around.

The walls were yellowed by age. There was a bed in the right corner of the room with a shabby looking knitted coverlet. Some posters stuck on the back of the bathroom door, and two paintings were standing against the wall, one of them framed. He resisted the urge to look closer at them.

The round kitchen table was only inches away from the end of the bed, and a wooden chair was jammed between the wall and the table. A grey couch was facing a small TV. Severus stared at it, trying to imagine Malfoy sitting on that couch watching Muggle TV. It was unfathomable.

The old Lucius Malfoy would have rather died than live like this.

Or, maybe Malfoy was the quintessential Slytherin, simply refusing to die, waiting for another chance perhaps. He didn’t believe that, however. It seemed that Malfoy had in fact given up a long time ago. No one in his right mind would live this life and not try to get out of it. Malfoy had never been overly smart or gifted but not outright stupid either.

Severus stepped closer to Malfoy to study his face, and noted how Malfoy let himself be scrutinised and examined like a horse, a thing without betraying any anger, any emotion. Aside from the wrinkles and the creases there were scars, some of them Severus recognised as curse scars, and a light stubble. Deep lines of sorrow and fatigue were etched into the sides of his mouth and he let his gaze linger on them, pretending a triumph he didn't really feel.

I should feel more than this, Severus thought.

If Malfoy was already used to being treated like an inferior being, it would take the pleasure out of his revenge. He had waited too long, Severus thought, to be deprived of the pleasure of seeing Malfoy humbled and defeated, a powerless squib, who had to work in a Muggle supermarket and who lived in a tiny room in a dubious neighbourhood. Still, he could not chase this disappointment away, the nagging feeling of getting something and realising it wasn't what he wanted after all.

Malfoy took two cans out of the fridge. The cans looked odd in his hand, and the casual way Malfoy opened his drink, pulled the tin lash, emptied it and threw it into a bin near the fridge, unsettled Severus even more. He barely caught the other can Malfoy tossed him.

"If I were you, I'd be careful with my alcohol intake," said Severus. "Your body is less forgiving of toxins without your magical core."

There it was. Finally. Malfoy couldn't quite hide the fury in his eyes. Severus' eyes narrowed maliciously.

Without his magic, Malfoy’s famed beauty had paled and withered and he now looked merely like one of these ageing pretty boys, who had relied on their good looks a little too long and suddenly found themselves beyond forty and without any means and an equal lack of future prospects. There was a slight, very human air of despair in his eyes, maybe one of the reasons why he was so well versed in opening gin and tonic cans single-handedly.

"Do you miss your magic?" Severus asked, not able to resist. He had, Severus mused, a right to uphold his grudges, to hold on to his petty desire for revenge. Only now it felt less a desire than an automated and hollow response. Maybe if he were not to only witness Malfoy's pain and humiliation but the one to contribute to it, to cause it ... maybe it would feel better. Maybe it would make him feel at last.

Malfoy didn't even answer but glanced briefly at him, before emptying his can and tossing it onto the kitchen table. He must have known that this moment would come. Of course he couldn't have been that stupid to think that Severus had _forgotten_?

"Let us sit down then," Severus said silkily, gesturing at the bed, not at the couch.

Malfoy sat down on his mattress, which gave a loud creak, and looked up at him. No, Severus realised, Malfoy hadn't forgotten. He had anticipated this moment, had known all along that one day Severus would find him and make him pay. Maybe he had even longed for it, for the relief that this would undoubtedly bring. Severus knew how that felt - that kind of waiting.

He went to the fridge to find a whole shelf full with silver cans. The shelf underneath held only an ancient looking margarine, two shrivelled carrots and some jars, and further behind one bottle of gin, the other a very cheap looking vodka. He took another can and tossed it to Malfoy who caught it effortlessly and opened it. Severus walked over and sat on the bed beside him, leaning casually against the headrest and watching Malfoy swallow. Maybe there was still some defiance in him in the way he didn't slouch, but sat primly, upright, and the way he didn't look at Severus.

"How many years since we last saw each other?" Severus asked.

"It's been a long time. Maybe six, seven years?" Malfoy still refused to look at him, but stared at the empty can between his fingers.

"Maybe longer," Severus said.

"Maybe," Malfoy admitted.

There was another silence, thick and ominous. Severus pondered if he should ask Malfoy if he had missed him. Of course, he knew that Malfoy had not. But the question would undoubtedly conjure memories, memories Severus wished Malfoy to look at.

He felt like a cat who had managed to get hold of its prey and now tried to decide how to play with it. How should he go about it, to derive maximum pleasure out of this and cause Malfoy the maximum of discomfort?

He could ask him polite, well mannered questions about his work, his life, about Draco, and watch Malfoy become more and more agitated and tense. In the end, whatever Severus would do, or would order him to do, he would do it with this almost-gratitude, almost-relief of finally knowing what was going to happen. Severus suppressed a shiver of arousal at that idea. Malfoy would comply. There was no question about that. But, _how_ would he comply? Would he be able to maintain that blank, empty mask? Or would he betray himself, his anger, his pride? For it must hurt, must enrage Malfoy deeply that his world was now ruled by the very ones he had hunted like animals his whole life: the Mudbloods, the traitors. And he, once a Lord, a higher being, a pureblood, was banned into the hell of the Muggle world.

Suddenly Severus wanted it to be over with. He could just leave. This existence that Malfoy had to endure was really punishment enough. If he were to leave now, it would be over and he could go on ... living maybe. He could deliver his final words of insult, scorn, gloat a little over him and then ... just leave.

Stop waiting, stop hating, stop aching. He could walk down all those stairs and fling the door open and stand in the night air and breathe and never come back again.

He pulled his can open and drank from the vile concoction. His senses registered four different toxins before he had even swallowed. With a grimace he forced himself to drink. He took a deep breath.

"Undress," he ordered Malfoy in a forced casual tone, then waited. He let out his breath, shifting slightly to hide his excitement.

It had begun.

Slowly Malfoy’s hands rose to his collar. He unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled it out of his trousers, let it slide over his shoulders. Severus emptied the can and threw it on the floor.

Malfoy stood and unfastened his trousers, and they fell into a heap of grey fabric, removing his socks and shoes as well. For a moment he stood in his briefs, then pulled them down, too.

Oh, beautiful Lucius.

He was still beautiful, after all this time. He was still lean, as if carefully sculpted by a loving Renaissance artist. The horrible, flickering artificial light showed mercy for his lines, was strangely kind to the planes of his body.

Only on a closer look could one see that his nipples were darker now, the disks not as round and pink as if painted on. And here and there Severus could see skin sagging, folds and creases where he had lost weight. He was not as firm and supple any more. Standing every day at a cash register was not as good exercise as riding Abraxans were. Or torturing Mudbloods.

"Do you have lube here?" Severus asked, allowing the memories to wash over him.

Malfoy nodded and pointed towards the bathroom.

"Go and get it," Severus ordered. He pondered getting another drink while Malfoy rummaged in the bathroom. When he emerged, Severus told him, nausea and excitement building up in him, "Now get down on all fours, like a good dog."

Malfoy looked into his eyes at the words and Severus held his gaze.

Slowly he dropped onto all fours, the lube held awkwardly in his right hand.

"Very good," Severus praised him. "Now come here."

Malfoy crawled towards the bed until he was kneeling in front of Severus.

"You know what you have to do," Severus said softly. It was good. This was what he wanted. Yes, he wanted this. The pain inside him felt a bit unnatural, he guessed, but he had done worse in his life. It would abate and melt into relief. His cock was already half hard.

Malfoy opened Severus’ trousers and took his cock into his hands.

"Beg for it," Severus said, as coldly as possible.

Malfoy closed his eyes briefly, then looked up at him.

"May I, please?" he asked, starting to gently pull and rub the cock to full hardness.

"May I ... what?" Severus drawled lazily.

"May I suck your cock, please?" Malfoy whispered.

Severus forced a laugh. "Why should I let you suck my cock?"

Oh, they both knew the game. Only their roles were reversed now. It was hard to enjoy the moment because he had to concentrate on his lines. Later, he told himself, later when it was all over, he would watch his memories in the Pensieve and then he could enjoy it properly.

With something akin to satisfaction, he noticed how Malfoy's lips pressed into a thin line before he opened them.

"Because I am a filthy cockslut," he whispered, now barely audible.

"Ah, there you go. That wasn't so hard at all, was it?" Severus patted Malfoy’s cold cheek, barely able to hide his disappointment. He had expected Malfoy to put up a fight. "We all have to face some unpleasant truths about ourselves at one time or another."

Malfoy only nodded, continuing to stroke Severus’ cock, aiming it at his own face and looking up at him. If Severus didn’t feel so sick he might have found that delicious.

"Then, suck," he ordered, and no sooner had he spoken, Malfoy's pink tongue darted out and teased his foreskin.

Malfoy licked his cock, and Severus couldn't help but thinking that he deliberately made a show out of it, the way he was tilting his pretty head to suckle at the underside and mouth the balls, tongue tickling the sensitive skin of his perineum.

Malfoy suddenly lifted his gaze and locked eyes with him, and in that same moment he took him completely into his wet mouth. Severus could feel his prey's lips around the base of his cock and his throat working around the head, straining. But then Malfoy did something else, unhinged his jaw, because all of a sudden his cock slipped all the way in, and it was hot and tight and clenching, like a ...

_Fuckfuckfuck, it feels so good, so hot and wet and ..._

... and he thrust into that mouth. He reached out and pulled Malfoy's head closer, revelling in the gagging sound he made. He grinned wolfishly and saw tears in Malfoy's eyes. But when he let go, instead of drawing back with relief, Malfoy grabbed his hips and pushed him down his throat again and again, never taking his gaze off him as if daring him, as if he didn't care about the pain, hollowing his cheeks. There was almost a bit of the old Malfoy in there, defiant and arrogant even in his submission.

He could feel Malfoy's aristocratic tongue lapping and curling and could feel the moist, warm suction and he wanted to come inside that sweet mouth. Only, with his last effort he pulled out, grabbed a handful of blonde hair and angled the cock and came all over Malfoy's face and head.

He wiped his cock for good measure into his hair, then let Malfoy lick him clean before he tucked himself into his trousers.

There was no outcry of rage or look of indignation.

Malfoy remained on his knees, come dripping from his face. His eyes were now as blank as they had been before.

"That's a very good look for you," Severus said hoarsely. The pain in his chest was suddenly unbearable and he almost feared he might be suffering a heart attack. He pulled his fine wool coat close and then went into the bathroom where he relieved himself, not bothering to close the door. The noise of his stream hitting the porcelain bowl was the only sound that could be heard in the tiny flat. A small mirror hung in the cramped room. He grimly bared his teeth at the blurry reflection then went into the living room again. Malfoy, to his astonishment, was still kneeling in the same spot, sitting on his haunches, looking at the wall, the forgotten bottle of lube behind him on the floor.

Without saying any further word to him, Severus left.

_  
**Summer 1979** _

_The long conference room was empty but for Voldemort who was sitting in an armchair by the fire, looking at the red flames._

_"My Lord," said Severus._

_"Severus."_

_Voldemort waved to the chair beside him. "Sit with me, my friend."_

_Cautiously Severus obeyed, watching Voldemort from the corner of his eyes._

_"It's always cold in these rooms," Voldemort murmured, apparently lost in his thoughts._

_"Shall I cast a Warming Spell?"_

_"No, don't bother." Voldemort continued to stare into the flames, his ageless face taut._

_"Things on the continent are going well I hear. We have allies in Italy, Germany and France. Malfoy returned yesterday with very good news."_

_"Yes, he has been busy," Severus replied._

_Voldemort said nothing to that._

_When the silence became nearly unbearable, Severus finally broke and asked, "What is it you wish from me?"_

_Voldemort looked at him, his eyes narrowed. "You do not always agree with me, do you?"_

_"I never disobey you, my Lord."_

_"I know," said Voldemort. "I know. That is why I trust you so much. You raise your voice against me. You defy me. You question my methods, my logic and my strategies, and you know your advice has been at times invaluable. But you always,_ always _obey in the end."_

_Severus opened his mouth and closed it again. It would be a mistake to speak now. It didn't escape Voldemort's notice though and he scoffed._

_"Always so smart, my Severus," he said quietly. He shook his head as if in disbelief. "My dear, my own heretic."_

_He reached out and covered Severus’ thin, long hand with his._

_"What could it possibly be that I want from you?" asked Voldemort._

_Severus closed his eyes. He knew. How could he know?_

_"Severus," said Voldemort softly. "Can you tell me where Regulus Arcturus Black is?"_

_For a long time Severus said nothing._

_"Does he mean so much to you?" Voldemort asked. "More than I mean to you? And more than all our goals, our hopes mean to you?"_

_"My Lord ..." said Severus hesitantly._

_"I am aware that I am asking you to betray your friend," said Voldemort and suddenly his voice seemed to carry into every corner of Severus’ soul. Startled by Voldemort's words, he looked into the man's face. "Regulus was there for you when you needed a friend. I know that."_

_Severus nodded._

_"But, Regulus betrayed not only me," Voldemort continued. "If it were only about me, I would not ask this from you, my friend." He stood and gathered his robes. "Regulus Black betrayed us, Severus. Not me, but all of us. And he betrayed us not because he stopped believing, he betrayed us because he is a coward. He chose to go to the other side and beg for mercy because he was afraid. That is the worst kind of betrayal."_

_He frowned and turned to Severus. "If a man stops believing in a cause, then ... I respect that. Believe me, Severus, if you tell me tomorrow that you stopped believing, that you see no hope for us, that you do not dream my dreams any more, I would let you go. I would rather let you go than keep someone who doesn't believe in my vision. Know that. Keep that in mind, Severus." He paused, then leant forward until his lips nearly touched Severus' forehead. "Regulus Black's betrayal was much worse. He betrayed us to save his own hide. Trust me, not even Dumbledore will have anything to do with such a man. What do you believe will happen to Regulus Black once he has served his purpose? He will go to Azkaban, regardless of any deal he has made with Dumbledore. What do you think Gryffindors will think of someone who turns around and betrays his brethren? That they treat him with respect, that they honour their word? For a traitor? Do you really think the likes of James Potter and Frank Longbottom will keep any promise they give a man like Regulus Black?"_

_Voldemort sank to his knees in front of Severus, taking both of Severus’ hands. Severus could feel the power thrumming, the vibrations and flow of magic swirling in the room. It seemed as if everything, the flowers on the tapestries, the flames in the fireplace, the draped velvet curtains and the intricate pattern of the rug beneath his feet, were moving and coming to life. Sometimes Voldemort invited him to share his magic and, like a snake looking for warmth, Severus’ hungry mind would immediately connect to it and relish that full, thick feeling of magic more powerful than anything he knew flowing through him. Even now, when they were not connected to each other’s minds, he could feel that power singing._

_"I am not here for Regulus Black, Severus," whispered Voldemort. "I do not care for him anymore. If I don't find him ... someone else will. One way or another, he is already dead flesh. Whatever you choose to tell me, it won't matter to Regulus Black." He cupped Severus’ chin. "I am here because of you," said Voldemort. "I need to know if you are on my side. Do you understand that?"_

_His eyes seemed to glow orange, then red. The fire was playing tricks. Severus blinked, stared down at his hands._

_"I lose good men every day, Severus. I mourn each and every one of them, as I have mourned Regulus. But Regulus is gone now, and because of his betrayal innocent people, good wizards and witches, will suffer or even die. What I need to know is, are you with me?"_

_He could feel Voldemort's inquiring, intrusive presence in his mind, his magic trying to anchor, to find something, an image to cling to, words to decode._

_Severus raised his face, finally, and made his decision.  
_

**2009**

A week later he was back at Tesco's. Again he watched Malfoy for half an hour before he queued in his lane. Malfoy worked quickly, without looking at the customers, but when addressed, he answered politely.

Malfoy looked up when he saw the peach can on the conveyor belt approaching him. Severus smirked at him, and Malfoy continued working. When he was scanning the can, Severus asked casually, "Say, Leo, I wonder how quickly I could get you fired from here?"

Malfoy didn't even stiffen at being spoken to like this. "It would depend on your grievance with me, sir," he replied and pushed a button on the cash register.

"I hope you are not dissatisfied with my services."

He gestured to the little screen and said, "That'll be seventy-five pence, please."

Severus tossed him a coin and took the plastic bag Malfoy was holding out to him. The cash register made a little sound and the receipt came out. Malfoy tore it and handed it to Severus, along with his change.

Severus walked around the corner before he Apparated to his apartment and put the can into his cupboard.

Three hours later, he Apparated back into the alley, straightened the collar of his coat and smoothed his hair back. When he turned around, he froze.

Ten metres away from him, Malfoy was standing with his back against the wall, a group of men standing around him. Silently Severus approached, while the men unaware of his presence started pushing Malfoy around. One of them pulled the pony tail Malfoy had tucked neatly away and yanked his head back, the way Severus had done some days ago.

Malfoy let it happen with the same bland mask he had worn then. He didn't even lift a finger to defend himself. Even without magic Malfoy could have at least pushed the men away.

The other man spat into his face. "You fucking poof," he said.

Malfoy said nothing.

"We don't need your kind here," said the third man. He shook Malfoy, and his head lolled against the brick wall behind him.

Severus couldn't hear Malfoy’s response, but the three men laughed. The biggest of them, the leader, grabbed Malfoy’s Tesco shirt roughly and turned him around so that his face was pressed against the wall.

"That's what you like, huh," the man growled. Severus stepped closer.

"A little less conversation, a little more action, gentlemen," Malfoy drawled as if he was discussing the weather and not being ambushed by some bullies in an alleyway. "You are truly sad excuses for street hooligans."

The man slapped Malfoy unceremoniously in the face. "You like it rough?"

Severus thought he could enjoy that. He could enjoy these three beating up Malfoy until he was lying on the ground, and then he could step over to his curled up body. He could catch a good look into Malfoy's face and then leave him there, bleeding.

Severus revealed his teeth in a grimace and even he couldn't say if he felt triumph, mockery or pain.

They kneed Malfoy in the stomach and, wheezing, Malfoy sank down onto his knees, then fell slowly forward, one hand fisted into his shirt.

"Petrificus Totalus," Severus whispered, aiming his wand at the three men who immediately fell onto the ground. He pulled Malfoy away from them, then bent over their faces and cleanly Obliviated each and every one of them.

He stepped back into the darkness of the alley and gathered Malfoy close, then Apparated them back to Malfoy’s block of flats.

Malfoy steadied himself. His face was an impenetrable mask and he seemed unmoved apart from a light shaking of his hands. Severus stepped back from him.

"Can you walk by yourself?" asked Severus.

Malfoy gazed at him with narrowed eyes, as if unsure what language Severus was speaking, then nodded. He pushed himself off the wall and limped into the dark hallway, his gait unsteady. Severus followed. After one flight of stairs Malfoy’s knees gave way and Severus reached out and caught him. Malfoy didn’t shake him off.

They continued to walk upstairs in complete silence. With a slight feeling of relief, Severus saw that the hallway was slightly cleaner than last time and the dead rat was gone.

The first thing Malfoy did, even before he went into the bathroom to clean himself up, was to open the fridge and to drink down two of those atrocious canned drinks like they were water. The shaking of his hands subsided a little.

Severus followed him into the bathroom and watched Malfoy undressing. Malfoy, for his part, ignored Severus until the water sputtered out of the rusty shower head. Suddenly he turned around and fixed him with a blank stare while washing himself. 

It was an odd moment: Severus standing there in his coat, and Malfoy naked, water running off his body. The cold, detached way he looked at him, as if he were nothing, merely a servant or a house-elf.

Severus felt a well-remembered nervousness gathering inside him and resolutely he stepped closer to the shower curtain and pulled it aside. The water ran down on Malfoy’s unmoving face like tears on a marble statue. Malfoy cocked his head slightly then he sank wordlessly to his knees, calmly unzipped Severus’ trousers and pulled out his limp cock.

Severus jerked back, one hand running through his hair, with the other zipping his trousers up.

"Stop that," he said hoarsely before he could stop himself. Malfoy regarded him with the same polite blankness he reserved for the customers at the checkout and stood up. Without a word he took a bar of soap and continued to wash himself, still watching Severus.

Severus leant on the tiles, not caring that he was getting wet too. There were water drops glistening on his coat and his suit, like little, tiny glass beads.

Another moment went by and then another and another.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

This would not do.

He realised that his hand, balled into a fist, was in his mouth and he was biting his knuckles. 

He let it fall.

With a sudden flare of rage, he moved towards the shower again and grabbed Malfoy's arm, violently pulling him out of the shower. Malfoy didn't do anything to defend himself, and Severus’ irrational fury grew.

"What is it with you?" he snarled at him, pushing him onto his knees. "Are you doing that on purpose?" Malfoy caught himself with his hands but then like an obedient servant remained in that position.

"Do you want me to fight back," he asked calmly, looking at his hands, "the way you didn't?"

Severus could hardly breathe. He wanted to kick Malfoy in the ribs, break his face, his arms, violate him, hurt hurt hurt him.

It would still leave him empty. Nothing would fill the emptiness inside him. Severus ran a hand over his face, trying to compose himself. He withstood the urge to clutch at his heart.

He looked at Malfoy's white back, dripping with water, then pulled out his wand and pressed it against his jugular.

"Every Pureblood wizard would have killed himself a long time ago," Severus said. "Isn't this a _tradition_?"

Malfoy didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you kill yourself?" whispered Severus. "Why did you allow yourself to become this?"

He pushed Malfoy and dug the wand into the soft spot underneath his chin.

Malfoy fell against the tiles carelessly, limp boned.

"Tell me, Malfoy," Severus moved closer, his lips touching Malfoy’s perfect ear, "why live? Why go through this miserable existence?"

"I am only waiting for Draco to get married," Malfoy replied calmly. "Then, I can work on getting back my magic, my wand and my estate. I still have my connections, believe me. I only need to wait until they're married. Then my position will be ... considerably improved."

"You're delusional," Severus said, but felt cold dread draw up inside him and knotting his insides.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Malfoy asked, smiling. "Look at you. Here you are, full of big words about revenge and I am still alive. Why take your chances? I would have killed you already if it had been you on your knees."

Severus swallowed. He could imagine that. It was only a matter of weeks until Draco and Ginevra Weasley announced their wedding date. And then Malfoy could begin to claw his way back into Wizarding Society, and with the support of his former allies, friends ... he would manage.

"Remember how we used to taunt you?" Malfoy purred. "We all knew how the Marauders had their fun with you, _Snivellus_. We pretended not to know but we just didn't care. After all, it was only you." He laughed.

There was a little craziness in that voice. It confused Severus, that slight hysterical edge. He didn't think that he ever heard that tone in Malfoy's voice before.

"I made a bet with the others in my seventh year that I would make you fall in love with me, would make you my little catamite." Malfoy paused, then continued, "At least someone had the mercy to put a cock inside your skinny little arse and give you a good fuck. Has anyone ever fucked you like that again? Given you that feeling of complete bliss, made you wail and scream and beg?"

"Shut up!" Severus snarled, and the curse formed in his brain, could almost see its green haze.

"You enjoyed yourself so much. After all you always had a submissive streak in you, that much was obvious." Malfoy glared at him, then pulled himself up onto his elbows. "Look at you, you filthy son of a blood traitor, you dirty Muggle. Do you really think you can deceive anyone? After all these years? You still reek of Muggle, Snivellus, underneath your potions and magic. No matter how hard you try, the likes of you will always stick out like a sore thumb, you worthless cocksucker." He drew in his breath sharply and his eyes looked wild for a moment. "No matter how much you humiliate me, you will still remember how I took you, and how you begged for it, whined and begged for cock, spreading your legs."

Severus clenched his teeth.

Malfoy looked up at him with a delighted, mad grin on his face. Severus had never seen that expression on him before either.

"You remember," insisted Malfoy, still smiling, "as if your body can't let go of the only time someone touched you voluntarily! Of the only time you experienced ... intimacy. No, the body doesn't forget things like that."

Severus backhanded him and Malfoy's head snapped back. When he looked up at Severus again, there was a red bruise on his cheekbone.

"You still want me. You miserable, lonely soul, despite it all, you yearn for it. That's why you're here. If you were here for revenge, you would have killed me already." Malfoy scooted closer on his knees in a horrid parody of seduction and submission. "If you kill me now, this will stop. You'll be able to sleep in peace for the first time. Do it now and you'll never wake up in the middle of the night again; you'll never feel that humiliation again!"

Severus' breathing slowed. He carefully pulled his wand back and got up. Malfoy frowned.

"But then ... you are your mother's child, I guess. The offspring of a whore who sucked Muggle cock. Did you know she offered herself to strangers? She didn't stop after you were born, I heard. My father had her once ... in Knockturn Alley. Like you, she was begging for it. Like mother, like son, hey?" said Malfoy in the conversational way he had always been so skilled, but followed Severus’ wand with a desperate glance. "Tell me, do you think you could have got it up for Lily if she would have let you fuck her?"

He got up, wincing, and Severus remembered that he must have at least one broken or bruised rib from the thugs. He aimed his wand again and began healing Malfoy who hissed at him, suddenly furious. "Stop _healing_ me, you traitorous coward!"

"What if I were to share my memories of our little tete-a-tete with the world? Sell them to the Daily Prophet? You sucking cock and kneeling in front of me. How would you like that?" purred Severus while stroking Malfoy’s healed skin. “How would that help your grand plans?”

He pushed Malfoy away with his boot.

Malfoy got up and walked to the fridge, but this time he didn't bother with the canned gin and tonic and pulled the half empty bottle of gin out instead.

He poured some, too much, Severus thought, and offered the drink to Severus who took the glass.

Severus wondered if he could ever be free.

Malfoy poured himself a glass and drank it down, then he poured some more.

He put the glass down on the table. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" he asked casually.

Severus kept himself from flinching, from asking "What?"

"You want to fuck me," Malfoy said. "The way I fucked you once. You want to punish me. You want to taste blood."

Severus regarded him under heavy lidded eyes. He didn't like the buzz of the gin, the bitter taste.

"And you'll let me, just like that?" he asked.

"I have no magic anymore. I don't have a choice. Why postpone the inevitable."

Severus nodded to himself. _Yes, why indeed?_

"If you are trying to deprive me of the satisfaction by refusing to fight, you need to choose another tactic," he said, putting the glass down. "If you are attempting to take control by initiating your punishment, you are sadly mistaken, Malfoy. I know what you are doing, and it will not work."

_I will go through with this. I won't back down._

Maybe this moment bore too much sadness. If he closed his eyes and forced himself to remember all the pretty lies, all the humiliation, the betrayal .... A slight touch made him open his eyes.

Malfoy stood in front of him. He laid a single cold finger on his lips, a strange and unfamiliar gesture.

Then he slowly fell down to his knees and laid his long, bony hands on his thighs. Malfoy sighed inaudibly, then turned to him with the arrogant smile he had worn as a fifteen year old boy. It was probably another mask, but the time Severus had cared about such trivialities was long over.

He concentrated on the present.

With an almost wicked smile, Malfoy slid his belt out of the loops, then rolled it carefully and handed it to Severus. Numbly, he took the belt, then felt his trousers being unbuttoned and unzipped, and the fabric slide down to his ankles. He didn't want that.

Malfoy rubbed his cheek against his groin.

He resisted the urge to touch Malfoy’s hair like he would pet a cat and so gripped the belt.

He wasn't hard. He wasn't aroused. There was no use denying it. Malfoy didn't comment on the softness of his cock but instead took it in his mouth and sucked and licked gently, first in a mechanical way, but when Severus’ cock remained stubbornly limp for the next minutes, Malfoy added small moans and closed his eyes and caressed his balls, and finally, eventually, he managed to pull a half-hearted erection through sheer force of will. Then, Malfoy turned around on his knees and leant forward, laying his forehead on the rug, reaching behind and parting his cheeks.

Malfoy’s hole was still so inviting, so small and delicate and pink, Severus thought. If he were only hard he could just grip his hips and ram it in, push mercilessly through the dryness and tear his flesh, make him wail and sob and grit his teeth.

The belt slid down to the floor.

"You'll get there as soon as you hit me," Malfoy said softly. "You'll feel it as soon as you start. You only have to start."

"Get there?" Severus asked numbly, looking down. "Feel ...?"

"The satisfaction. The surge of power, the rage," Malfoy explained, still holding himself open. "The relief."

"You're doing this on purpose," said Severus through gritted teeth.

Severus knew he needed to find the boy that Malfoy once was but something about this thought filled him with dread. Somewhere underneath this tired, defeated version of Lucius Malfoy must be the murderer, the seducer, the heartless, cruel boy that had once shattered him.

He too was tired and longed for something with all his black, empty heart, and for a long time it had been atonement and revenge and death, the sweet absolution of death, but things were never that simple. What his twisted mind wanted revealed itself in his dreams, in his restless moments, the tiny gaps between thoughts.

_Lucius._

Like a little child he wanted to whisper: "Why did you have to go and do that to me? Why did you force me to hate you? Why, why, why?"

Because in the end, it all had been so ridiculously futile. Their former king, their Lord was dead meat now, food for worms, and with him his dreams of eternity. All that was left were aimless chess pieces, scattered from a deserted board.

He would have died for her, he used to tell her with a sneer on his face, a snarl that wanted to balance out those pathetic words.

_I would fucking die for you, Evans._

She had died because of him. So many had died because of him, because of his error in judgement, because he had put his trust in the wrong people, because of his cowardice.

No, this was not only his fault.

"I don't want to fuck you," Severus finally said. "I look at you, and I can't even get it up, you disgusting piece of filth."

He pulled Malfoy up, who winced a little. His knees were red and Severus could see the pattern of the rug on the knee caps. He had to force himself to yank him, like a prison guard would handle an inmate.

He pushed Malfoy, who seemed to have no will of his own, onto the bed. He pointed his wand and the fridge opened. The bottle of gin flew into his hand. He unscrewed the lid and drank and then gave it to Malfoy, who did the same, his eyes on Severus.

Then, he set the bottle down.

There was a storm raging inside Severus, a sick, deep hatred boiling inside of him, and Malfoy would not let him ... near. With all his meek obedience he kept Severus at bay, but he would not let Malfoy succeed, he would not let him play this dirty trick. Malfoy would not escape, because he still had to pay.

And suddenly, Severus kissed Malfoy, tasting the cheap gin on his lips and something salty, wet. He pulled him close, his damned hair all over his hands. Strangely Malfoy did try to resist this time, did try to pull away, murmuring, "No ... please ... no."

_So you don't mind the belt ... but kissing Snivellus ..._

Something in Severus' chest roared with triumph at those words. At some point, though, Malfoy must have realised how useless it was to fight and he gave in, his hands settling on Severus’ back and holding him in place.

Severus didn’t know how long they kissed. He should not lose track of the time, he scolded himself. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, could feel Malfoy’s heart echo the mad rhythm, and he felt grim satisfaction at that.

Not that untouchable after all.

Malfoy let himself fall back on the mattress, pulling Severus with him. Little alarm bells went off in his brain, but it was too late.

Since when had it been too late?

Ten minutes ago, when Malfoy handed him the belt, it had still been his game, hadn't it? When had he let Malfoy take control?

But another voice insisted that it didn't matter, that it had never mattered.

He was hard all of a sudden, aching, aroused, his desire spilling in moisture leaking from the tip, pulsing, and Malfoy’s hands stroked Severus’ flanks then rested on his hips.

They looked at each other and couldn't look away. He could never, ever look away, Severus thought, and that thought felt like a prison door falling shut behind him.

Malfoy unbuttoned Severus’ shirt, then pushed down both of their trousers in a slithering movement. Severus could feel Malfoy’s foot steady itself on his calf, and then they were both naked.

With one hand Malfoy groped for the bottle of lube that had rolled under the bed and opened it, then he sat up so he could reach down. Severus propped himself up on his arms and watched as Malfoy began to prepare himself with the practised movements of a man who knew anal penetration, avoiding his eyes now. When he pushed his finger into himself, he raised an eyebrow and Severus felt the overwhelming urge to trace that eyebrow with his lips.

_Oh._

Like a fifteen year old school boy, Severus forced himself to hold himself off. He could hardly breathe, the pressure was so intense. There was the smell of sex and arousal and the slick noises of Malfoy’s fingers in his own arse. And as if that wasn't enough, Malfoy slid the other hand over his body and caressed his nipple. 

When it came to sex, Malfoy had always been very clever.

Severus took Malfoy’s cock and started stroking it, and soon Malfoy’s breathing became harsh and irregular, and he lifted himself off the bed, grinding against Severus.

Severus knew he shouldn't do this, because it wasn't revenge.

It was too late of course, and he couldn’t prevent that strange, upsetting clenching in his chest when Malfoy finally looked up and pressed himself against him and said, "Yes."

And when Severus, dazed as he was, didn’t understand immediately, Malfoy reached down and grabbed Severus’ cock and pushed himself against it. For a moment Severus' heart stopped beating. Breathlessly he slid in. He clung to Malfoy, held onto him because the world began spinning and he felt they were sinking into an unknown darkness together, or were lifted into the black night, two bodies entwined with each other, devoid of gravity.

He didn’t want this, he told himself, even as he took hold of Malfoy’s waist to steady himself. He did not want this.

Malfoy raised himself off the bed, keening, his legs circling Severus’ waist, muttering.

Severus had intended to punish Malfoy. But now he felt nothing could stop the flood of desire and sadness and raw feeling that poured out of his chest, all this fucking emotion rolling off him, running like liquid fire through his veins, the clawing feeling and the sensation of being torn into thousand shreds.

It was burning hate and murderous lust and despair and fear and contempt, and then it was ...

Severus could not bring himself to end his thought, to look what was underneath it all.

"Damn you, Malfoy," he whispered and in a final violent thrust sheathed himself completely.

Malfoy said only, "I know," and pressed himself up, as if to encourage him to thrust harder, to hurt him.

"Do you need the pain?" Severus growled, unable to understand why his voice didn't obey, why he felt like suffocating. Oh, how he loathed that unbearable sweetness.

Malfoy only held him tighter, stroking his head, and Severus could not hear what he murmured. He wanted to push this man away and kick him; hurt him; destroy the face that still held so much beauty, even now; mar his features; scratch that beautiful skin off him and reveal the ugliness underneath.

They moved together, frantically. They were one now, as if connected to one heart, one pulse.

"You want to atone?" hissed Severus, furious. "Is that it?"

Malfoy nodded, panting, gasping when one of them shifted and clenching tight.

"We both need to atone," he whispered, cradling Severus’ head and kissing him.

Severus shook his head, but he couldn’t hold off the wave that had begun to roll towards him, the liquid heat in his groin. He was incapable of fending off the absolute loss of control now and he screamed - he screamed and then it seemed he couldn’t stop coming.

Oh, God help him, he could not stop feeling.

He felt Malfoy become so very tight around him. Malfoy looked with strangely bright, glittering eyes. He gasped "Severus" then closed his eyes. His head fell back and he didn't move.

Severus waited until his elbows pained him, then dared to shake the other slightly.

_Lucius._

"Malfoy," he said, as clipped as possible.

Slowly Malfoy opened his eyes and shifted to look at Severus. Severus closed his mind and hardened his gaze; he would not give Malfoy the satisfaction. He blinked the softness in his gaze away until his face was blank again.

Dazedly, Severus thought he did not want to know why this fucking hurt that Lucius Malfoy had never looked more beautiful than in these few moments of post orgasmic bliss, so ... innocent ... like a child.

_Like a lover._

"Sleep now," Malfoy murmured. He was staring off into nothingness, his hand playing idly with Severus’ sweaty, black hair, carding his fingers through it. Severus was ashamed of the way his body leant into this caress without consulting him.

He felt his eyelids droop and his limbs grow heavy. 

He shouldn't. 

What he should do was humiliate Malfoy further by getting up, wiping his cock, getting dressed and leave.

He closed his eyes only for a moment.

He woke without a start, without changing his deep breathing, a habit that had saved his life more than a few times. He remained still until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slowly he could make out the kitchen table, the fridge. Beside him he could feel Lucius Malfoy, shifting slightly on the bed. Carefully he monitored his breathing without letting Malfoy know he was awake.

Fingertips settled on his hairline. With the utmost effort he restrained himself from gripping Malfoy's wrist.

The fingers stroked his face now, very lightly.

He forced himself to lie still, to endure the touch, waiting for what Malfoy had planned next. But, nothing else followed. Malfoy only petted his hair, and from the corner of his eye he could see his pale face and the gleam of his eyes.

After a while he shifted and moved, and immediately Malfoy lifted his fingers and held his breath, as if fearful to be caught. Then after an eternity he felt Malfoy relax and move closer to him.

Panic gripped him.

_I do not want this._

Malfoy was, and had always been, a liar and an opportunist, an unfeeling, cruel and spoiled schemer and manipulator. It would do no good to relax in his presence and to fall asleep like an idiot. With a jerk he rose and, for good measure, shoved Malfoy away against the wall.

"I have to go," he said. "I'll be back next week, same time."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He began to dress himself with abrupt, furious movements.

In the darkness Malfoy got up and picked something up that was lying on the floor.

"Don't forget this," he said and held out the belt. Severus took it without thanks and looped it back into the waistband of his trousers.

Malfoy got back into bed and covered himself with the blanket. When Severus realised that he was searching his mind for words that would allow him to stay a little longer beside the warm bed with Malfoy in it, he turned on his heels and left.

He spent the evening working at the Ministry until midnight. The day after he had dinner with Potter, Granger and some colleagues who worked in the Auror department.

The next day he Apparated to London, but he held himself back before going to Malfoy's apartment. Another week, he told himself. It was the rule that he had established.

He returned to his apartment in Diagon Alley.

The day after he Apparated to Tesco’s. He lurked without entering, feeling a bit strange standing outside the glass doors. Before Malfoy could see him, he left.

One day later he stood in front of Malfoy’s block of flats, his fingers twitching to push the heavy entrance door open.

He took a deep breath and then returned to his home.

 

"Mr. Snape?"

Severus' head snapped up and he glared viciously around. Nine amused faces were turned towards him. Auror Ronald Weasley was frowning at him. He schooled his features into a bland mask and raised an eyebrow.

"I was asking about your opinion on case, er," Weasley lifted a corner of a parchment and read: "M12-36"

Severus nodded shortly. Potter shot an amused look towards Weasley, then him.

Of course, he had no idea what Weasley was talking about.

"The matter requires further consideration," he said adjusting his robes. They suffocated him these days.

Weasley frowned, then tossed the file aside. "Anyway," he said, casting sidelong glances at Severus, "our next case would be E28-92."

Another voice, Shacklebolt, chimed in, and as the dark voice continued talking, Severus’ thoughts wandered off again. Granger argued with Potter and Weasley about a case, and in her annoyingly clear and crisp voice she began citing Wizarding Laws. Her bright Auror robes hurt Severus’ eyes.

After the urgent matters had been thoroughly discussed, Weasley brought up the upcoming elections. Severus stifled a yawn and attempted to feign interest.

“Wolfe-Brown is a war victim and people can identify with him,” Weasley said in that thoughtful tone he adopted around Granger to appear more mature. “His plans to restructure the Wizarding economy are quite sound. Did anyone listen to his speech on the wireless last Sunday?”

Potter and Granger frowned.

“To demand reparations that would drive countless Wizarding families into financial ruin is not a sound plan.”

“Countless _Dark_ Wizarding families, former supporters of You Know Who. Someone has to pay for the, you know, damages, the losses. It’s only fair to make those pay who caused the suffering.”

“Wolf-Brown is deliberately sowing hatred. He is fuelling the resentments against former Death Eaters and Purebloods and using the general atmosphere of distrust and cries for revenge for his own personal agenda –”

Potter interrupted before this exchange could become an argument, leaning forward and talking in his soothing, and yet disturbingly cheerful, Head Auror voice. Granger and Weasley looked dismayed at his intervention, but shrugged.

After the meeting he stood up and swept out of the room, ignoring Potter who tried to get his attention. It was of course impossible to ignore Potter. Some people refused to be ignored. Or like Potter, they ignored being ignored.

"Severus!"

Severus, pretending not to hear, sped up and strode toward the Ministry Floo system. Just before he could grab the Floo powder, Potter's hand was on his arm and was not withdrawn, even when Severus directed his strongest glare at it.

"Harry." He nodded curtly, cursing the day he had allowed him to address him with his given name; it had been a moment of temporary insanity, incidentally brought on by the news of Albus Severus’ birth some years ago.

"I was only worried about you," Potter said, gazing at him from under thick black eyebrows. "You haven’t seemed yourself lately."

"There is nothing you have to concern yourself with," Severus replied. "Now let go of me or I swear I’ll bite your hand off."

Potter withdrew his hand. "That was quite original. I don’t think I ever heard that one," he said. "Anyway, if you’re overworked, we can arrange for an assistant."

Ever the helpful Gryffindor.

_Why don't you just fuck off and—_

Severus shook his head, a bit shocked at his own thoughts. What the hell was he thinking? What was wrong with him?

Another wave of intense dislike rolled over him. Malfoy. The man was poisoning him from the inside.

He was going insane.

"Severus, are you sure you're okay?" Potter's worried voice washed over him.

"Yes, yes," he managed and reached for the Floo powder. "Just let me be!"

Potter stepped back and the last thing Severus saw before the Floo yanked his body and mind was Potter's worried glance.

The night air of Southwark was tinged with the light smell of gasoline, probably wafting from a nearby gas station. He could hear the faint noise of cars zooming past. He walked several streets to clear his thoughts, then found he was standing right in front of Malfoy’s building.

The Tempus he cast revealed it was nearly ten o'clock. Sometimes Malfoy had to work late, and he wouldn’t be expecting him today. Especially not so soon after their last ... meeting.

He tilted his head back to have a look at the windows on the fourth floor.

Ah, the light was on. Something turned in his stomach. He recognised that feeling as nervousness.

He really needed to check Malfoy’s work schedule, he thought as he walked up the stairs, then he could plan his visits better. Once or twice he nearly succumbed to the temptation of simply Apparating straight into Malfoy’s apartment, but in the end he decided against it. The idea of Malfoy sitting alone in his room and hearing that knock and having to get up to open the door like a house-elf was, in a way, enticing.

There were noises in the hallway emanating from the flats on either side, muffled voices and the sound of a stereo or a TV, the shutting and opening of doors, steps over or beneath him on the stairs, and some quiet shuffling. Somewhere in that building teenagers were lurking around and one could never be careful enough. If he Apparated here, the Ministry would appear immediately and there would be an endless row of questions. They might take Malfoy away from him, and he couldn't have that, not before he was finished with him.

He grimly marched up the last flight of stairs. At least he knew now why Malfoy still had shapely legs.

Leaning against the creaky banister to catch his breath, he heard music and a woman's voice through Malfoy's door. It took him a while to digest this unexpected fact. He hadn’t even considered Malfoy would entertain guests, that he even had anyone to entertain.

Friends? Malfoy? Could he afford even to pay a prostitute?

Severus composed himself, straightened his coat and adjusted his felt hat, then knocked imperiously and somehow stronger than he intended.

There was a short silence, then the woman's voice in an inquiring tone could be heard, and a chair creaked. The door opened, casting light into the dim hallway and pouring over Severus’ white features. Malfoy had his hair tied back and his cheeks were flushed.

There was the briefest moment of surprise on Malfoy’s face, a slight widening of his eyes, Severus noticed with satisfaction.

"Good evening," Malfoy said softly after a while. "Would you like to come in and have dinner with us?"

He swung the door open and moved out of the way to reveal an elderly woman sitting at the table, her cheeks flushed as well. She was faintly familiar but Severus couldn't place her immediately. She looked a little too plain to be a prostitute.

"This is Margaret. We work together," Malfoy said. Confused, Severus mechanically took her hand and shook it.

She cocked her head, but before Malfoy could say anything, Severus said, "Simon ... Slade. Please, call me Simon."

"Hello, Simon." Margaret shook his hand again and then sat back down. She sat on the bed, Severus noticed, the round table moved closer to the bed so she could lean her elbows on it. A delicious smell wafted from the middle of the table and Severus' stomach nearly gave a small growl.

"Would you mind sitting on the bed, Simon?" asked Malfoy, glaring a little at him. "I would offer you my seat but the chair is a bit unstable ..."

"Come and sit with me!" Margaret said jovially. "I won't bite you!" She laughed and moved a bit toward the end of Malfoy’s bed.

"I am not interrupting ...?" he inquired. The situation was so odd. Who was this woman? Wizard-Muggle Liaison? A spy?

"Nonsense," said Margaret in a manner that reminded him very much of Molly Weasley.

Was this a date? Severus knew that Malfoy liked women better than men, but hadn't he always preferred rake thin, blonde, Scandinavian looking ice queens?

Maybe it was difficult to pull them when one was working at the checkout in Tesco's.

He sat down, the table now a little too high for his comfort. Malfoy poured him a glass of wine, then Margaret and then himself.

"To our new guest!" Malfoy clinked glasses with Margaret, smiling at her, and then with Severus. Severus waited until both Margaret and Malfoy had drunk, then sipped a little from the glass, concentrating on the taste. He performed a wordless cleaning spell on the glass in case Malfoy had treated it with something and wiped his fingers on the blanket.

"So, how do you know Leo?" she asked. "Did you go to school together?" He looked at Malfoy who merely shrugged and sipped his wine with dainty little sips.

"Yes, we went to school together," he confirmed stiffly.

"Do you live in this area?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, which street ..."

"Would you like something to eat?" Malfoy asked, already putting together and passing plates to his guests. It was chicken and salad.

"Thank you." Severus put down the plate, but couldn’t bring himself to eat, not before he saw Malfoy put some of the chicken onto his own plate and eat a forkful. Only then did he begin. He caught Malfoy smirking lightly and making a show of eating the salad.

When Margaret reached over to take a napkin, the luxuriously stitched hem of a robe nearly fell into her salad. Giggling she shoved the expensive fabric up. When she noticed Severus staring, she told him, "Leo gave this to me! Lots of other things, too," and she pointed toward an opened bag. He could see the end of a silk scarf that had belonged to Narcissa, some jewellery, and a fine wool cloak.

"It’s just taking up space." Malfoy sighed. "It's not as if I can afford to waste space here."

"You know I can just imagine you strutting around in these dresses," Margaret said affectionately. "You gorgeous queen!"

Severus nearly choked on a leaf of rucola.

"Alright there?" She slapped him on his back.

"Thank you ..." said Severus faintly, then composed himself.

"Oh ..." She looked from Severus to Malfoy. "Oh, Leo. Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to imply that Leo here is—" she said hastily, but Malfoy cut her off.

"It's alright, Maggy, he knows, of course, that I am bisexual. After all, Simon and I are old school friends. He knows all about me." He winked at her and Margaret laughed, relieved.

While Severus was eating and enjoying the tasty chicken, Margaret and Malfoy continued chatting. She was a Muggle, with no magic whatsoever, and here was Malfoy behaving as if she were his best friend. Once or twice he even nudged her.

Severus’ thoughts were racing. Malfoy knew that Severus was an employee of the Ministry since after the war. Maybe this was an elaborate ruse to trick him into believing that Malfoy was reformed and a Muggle-lover.

Yet, Severus had to admit that Malfoy hadn't even known Severus would come by tonight.

The room, Severus noted, emanated a warmth that Malfoy Manor had never possessed. There were a few books, cushions on the bed, a warm rug on the floor, and candles throwing off yellow flickering light. A tea service was laid out on top of the fridge, while Malfoy had pinned postcards on the door. He eyed the small painting that was leaning against the door to the wardrobe, a blur of colours and wild brush strokes.

The room was shabby, but with some jealousy Severus noted that in some ways it was cosier than his own home.

"... and then he got into a rant because he claimed he had these discount tickets from the internet, and Sally just went mad!" Margaret was saying when his mind returned to the table

"Still no reason to tell him ... well, the things she said," said Malfoy, a little haughtily.

"Ooooh! The things she said!" Margaret immediately made fun of Malfoy's arrogant pose. "Come off it! She said 'fuck off, you wanker’! You heard her."

"Well, Sally can be forward. Like you."

Severus had no idea who Sally was or what they were talking about, but the lull of their voices made him sleepy. He realised he hadn’t slept well for the last few nights and relaxed against the headboard.

They continued to talk about Tesco, Malfoy patiently listening to Margaret ranting on about some customers. They even discussed the proper shelving of items and assured each other numerous times that the new inventory logistics system was a big pile of crap. Just when he was about to drift off, he heard Margaret teasing him about some supposed admirers.

"You're a pretty bloke," she said. "All the cute chicks are always standing in your queue."

“Yes, my job is a ruse to pull all the gorgeous birds,” Malfoy teased her.

“And the cute guys.”

“Maybe the cute guys are standing in my queue because of the cute girls and not because of me.”

"I think he's asleep," Margaret whispered to Malfoy after a while. "Shall I just leave? I can see you like him ..." She giggled.

"Shut up!" hissed Malfoy. Somehow, even with his eyes closed, Severus sensed Malfoy's cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Later he was woken up by Margaret and Malfoy roaring with laughter. He nearly banged his head on the headboard.

"Oh, gosh!" gasped Margaret. "Oh, I am so sorry! I laugh like a vulture, I know that. Are you all right?"

Severus was more than irritated about the fact that he, a former spy, had fallen asleep like a child. In Malfoy’s apartment.

Both of them laughed and chatted again, and Severus noticed that two empty bottles were standing on the table.

Malfoy's voice was a little louder now.

"I swear to you that Miller likes you," Margaret said. She turned to Severus. "So, we're at the pub and Miller asks Leo, ‘Okay, so you’re gay, right?’ I was like what!? You can't just say something like that.” She made a theatrical gasp and laid a hand on her heaving bosom. “And Leo gets really angry and asks in a really deep macho voice, ‘what business is this of yours?’ and puffs himself up like this!” She blew up her cheeks and her impersonation of a menacing and insulted Malfoy was so good and spot on that even Severus couldn't help smiling. He covered it up with a cough.

She laughed. "He looked so funny. You should have seen him."

Malfoy frowned at her, drawing his brows together. “I did not look funny! Miller was sufficiently cowed.”

"Yes, yes, right," she corrected herself, but rolling her eyes. "Very cowed. He nearly peed himself!"

"Margaret ... "

"And then Miller said, "Because you look incredibly good. Only gay men are that stunning."

“Margaret ...”

“And then Leo makes this little wave with his hand ... and he says in his girly voice, 'oh, really?' ...” She paused to put her left hand on her hip, then imitated with astonishing skill Malfoy's affected movement with his hand and the tossing of his hair.

She laughed again, and Malfoy crossed his arms in front of his chest, obviously embarrassed. Severus avoided looking at him.

“Miller was completely dazed the whole next day, staring at you and your ass.”

Lucius Malfoy shrugged. “Miller isn't my type.”

Margaret threw a cushion at him. “Don't break the poor boy's heart.”

Severus smiled a little again, despite himself, then cursed himself when he felt Malfoy's gaze resting on him.

"Well, Miller is cute, but he’s not alpha male material.” Margaret leant forward and made a rude sign with her hand that looked as if she was describing a very small ... appendage.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I do not care to hear those kinds of details.”

Margaret stared open-mouthed at him then howled with laughter. “Since when don't you care about that?” But then, she caught herself and went still. Casting a cautious glance at Severus she said, "You know what, Leo? I’ve had too much to drink and I'm an old bore. Heaven knows why you put up with me." She mouthed, "I am sorry," to Malfoy.

"More wine?" said Malfoy pleasantly, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, please," she said eagerly, and they both chuckled.

Severus, leaning against the headboard, could not stop himself from wondering. He knew now for sure that this woman was genuinely a friend. How on earth had Malfoy, former Pureblood wizard, made a Muggle friend?

What would she think of her friend if she knew how many lives he had taken.

Malfoy was more Muggle now than he, Severus, had ever been. The only Muggle he had ever known well had been his dad, and his dad’s Muggle ways had been mysterious to him and his mother, and often enough he had not known what to say to him, how to treat him.

Malfoy, of course, had no such difficulties anymore it seemed. His old life was in tatters and maybe his new existence wasn't as miserable as Severus had thought it was.

A while later Margaret finally got up to go home, giving a token protest at Malfoy's offer to escort her down. Malfoy helped her into her coat as the nights were still chilly and then looked at Severus.

"I have to go, too," Severus said stiffly, but Margaret dismissed it with a drunken wave. "He'll be back in a minute!" She leant forward and stage-whispered into Severus’ ear, "Don't let him off the hook.. He's such a darling."

Malfoy hissed, "Margaret!"

Then, they were out of the door and Severus heard them walking down the hallway. "That was unnecessary," he heard Malfoy grumble, but Margaret chirped back, "I think he likes you. He looked at you a lot ..."

Their voices trailed off as they descended and then the heavy door opened and closed.

Severus went to the window and he saw them walking to the corner where she hailed a cab. Before she got in, she turned around and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead. Malfoy bent down to her and she hugged him.

Severus pulled away from the window and went back to the bed. After a while he could hear Malfoy's steps, and then the door opened and Malfoy was back. He closed the door and leant against it, his chest heaving.

Slowly Severus approached Malfoy, and then, following an irresistible urge, laid a hand upon his chest, felt his heart pounding.

"The stairs," said Malfoy. "I always get breathless ... four flights of stairs. Not an easy feat in my age." His pupils were dilated from the alcohol and his lips were wine stained.

Malfoy covered Severus’ hand with his own. Then, as if he had just remembered, he pulled it back and instead began lowering himself onto his knees.

"No," said Severus quietly and pulled him up again. He averted his eyes, feeling Malfoy's questioning gaze on him.

Severus shook his head. He wanted something else tonight.

"What are you using this poor woman for?" he asked viciously. "You are buttering her up for something, aren't you?"

Malfoy’s head reared back at that, as if Severus had slapped him, then looked at him sideways. "Maybe," he said. "What is it to you?"

Severus shrugged. "It is only reassuring to know you haven’t lost all your talents. Your ability to charm hapless humans."

Malfoy’s smile was cold now. "Some things you never unlearn."

Somehow they were kissing again, and Severus didn't know who had started it, who had moved first. Very likely it had been him. Malfoy, the fool, always closed his eyes when he kissed and Severus studied the purple lids, the thin blue capillaries, the shadows under his eyes, the eyebrows drawing together.

Then, they were naked on the small bed and moving against each other, and the whole time Malfoy’s heart was beating frantically against the palm of Severus’ hand until Malfoy pulled his hand away from his chest with a forced smile and guided it to his cock. Severus realised that Malfoy was probably afraid and didn’t want him to know.

"Does it hurt you to hurt me?" asked Malfoy suddenly.

"You know it does," growled Severus, "but it won't keep me from doing it. And, it won't keep me from enjoying it nonetheless."

"Of course," whispered Malfoy. He suddenly pulled himself against Severus and they were so close ... so close. Like snakes seeking warmth.

Malfoy groped for the bottle of lubricant on the night stand and opened it with one hand. He began to stroke Severus with it, sliding his warm, wet hand, the skilled fingers on his hardening length.

Severus gave an involuntary little purr and Malfoy smiled into the juncture of his neck. He could feel his moist breath ghosting over his skin.

"Faster?"

"Yes ... faster ..."

Malfoy stroked faster, twisting his hand a little as Severus’ eyes fluttered shut.

"Lucius ..."

Malfoy moved, slithered, spread his legs and suddenly Severus’ oiled cock pushed against Malfoy’s hole. He could feel the inviting heat, the caress of the soft skin and the twitching.

He poured the slightly sticky liquid onto his shaking fingers, itching to stretch Malfoy, to feel that tight hole around him.

Without any warning, Malfoy pushed himself onto Severus cock, and the tightness robbed Severus of any coherency. _Too tight, too hot ..._

"Oh fuck ... fuck ..."

It must have hurt Malfoy like hell, but he was relentless. He put his other hand on Severus’ arse and pushed him, egged him on, then raised his hips against him and wrapped his legs around him. There was a wild look in his eyes.

He came, swearing, crying, almost sobbing, Malfoy holding him tight through it, so close, like he never wanted him to leave, like he wanted this, the pain and the tearing.

After a while, when Malfoy’s even breathing told him that he had fallen asleep, Severus fumbled for his wand and crouched down between the pale thighs and whispered healing spells. He felt like an idiot lying on his elbows, pointing a wand at Malfoy's bits. After a while he thought the damage was mostly undone and got up to get a wet towel to wipe away the blood and spunk that was trickling out.

When he got back from the bathroom, Malfoy was awake and Severus froze, narrowing his eyes at the strange expression Malfoy wore.

"What?" he inquired brusquely.

"I thought you had left," said Malfoy.

Severus realised that he had hidden the damp towel behind his back. With a sneer he threw it on the bed. “Clean yourself up, you made a mess.”

He began to dress himself, searching hurriedly for one of his socks.

"You don't have to leave immediately," Malfoy said in his friendly host-of-the-manor tone. "You cannot Apparate from here, and the night is a bit chilly, even for the walk down to the next alley."

Severus was tempted. It almost sounded like an invitation.

"Looking for more pain, Malfoy?" he sneered.

Malfoy said nothing. When Severus looked up he saw that he was lying on his back, hands resting on his chest, as if he were a dead pharaoh lying in a tomb.

Severus gave up on finding the sock and slipped on his shoes, one of them uncomfortably cold now. Malfoy’s gaze lingered on the bare ankle, the bit of bone and flesh and skin that peaked out under the hem of his trouser leg.

He left without looking back, like the other times, knowing that Malfoy was staring at the wall, into nothingness, not seeing him at all.


	2. Death Be Not Proud

__  
You forests, like cathedrals, are my dread:  
You roar like organs.  
Our curst hearts, like cells  
Where death forever rattles on the bed,  
Echo your de Profundis as it swells.  
My spirit hates you, Ocean! sees, and loathes  
Its tumults in your own. Of men defeated  
 The bitter laugh, that's full of sobs and oaths,  
Is in your own tremendously repeated.  
How you would please me, Night! without your stars    
Which speak a foreign dialect, that jars  
On one who seeks the void, the black, the bare.  
Yet even your darkest shade a canvas forms    
Whereon my eye must multiply in swarms  
Familiar looks of shapes no longer there. 

_'Obsession' by Charles Baudelaire (translated by: Roy Campbell, 1952)_

_**Summer 1978**  _

_"You don't care at all who fucks you, do you?" Malfoy whispered. He bit Severus’ skin, the thin, hairless chest, a small nipple, the collarbones, the soft skin of his throat. He licked and kissed his inner thighs, caressed the hip bones. Severus felt something ignite, near his tailbone, sending out little sparks, and he suppressed an undignified moan._

_Malfoy looked at him. He lifted both of Severus' legs and pushed them up against his chest. Severus smirked although Malfoy’s intensity could still unsettle him at times._

_A warm, wet tongue touched him down there and Severus bit his lips. Malfoy held him down and began to lick in circles around his hole._

_Severus arched up, jerking against Malfoy's mouth, in awe that his whole being was suddenly centered on that tiny bit of skin. The pleasure that Malfoy's tongue caused coursed through his whole body. He began twisting and pinching his own nipples._

_Abruptly, Malfoy stopped._

_He reached with his right hand to clutch a glass of wine that was standing on a table nearby and passed it to Severus._

_Severus frowned._

_"Drink," Malfoy ordered._

_Hesitation and confusion fought in Severus’ eyes. He took the glass from Malfoy's hand and sniffed the contents. He narrowed his eyes._

_"I don't need an enhancer," he said. "You put an enhancer potion into this."_

_Malfoy smiled. "Drink, Severus," he said in a harder tone._

_Severus drew his eyebrows together ready to disobey, but then Malfoy began teasing Severus’ crack with his cock with slow deliberate strokes, and the glass in Severus’ hand began to shake._

_"Drink," Malfoy said again. "You will like this. You are in a good mood, aren't you?" He emphasised his point with another little push of his cock against Severus’ oiled, needy hole._

_Malfoy could be convincing at times and a little mood enhancer wasn’t such a bad idea. Severus shrugged internally and drank the wine._

_Then...a red-hot wave of lust hit Severus hard. Gasping, he tensed and looked at Malfoy, who grinned in an unapologetic manner._

_"What ...?" Severus struggled for breath, trying to calm the wave of intense lustwantdesire that flooded him._

_"Apologies for the vile taste of the enhancer potion, Sev," Malfoy told him softly, stroking his quivering flanks lightly, like one would caress a horse. "I might have overdone it to mask the smell of the lust potion. It is rather strong."_

_Malfoy smiled again, and through the haze of uncontrollable lust and desire that gripped him fiercely and mercilessly, Severus wanted to lunge at him and rip that smile off his face._

_Malfoy got up and walked to the chair._

_"How do you feel?" he asked lightly. "Care for a fuck?"_

_Severus growled, a deep furious, feral sound._

_Malfoy sat in the chair, his legs spread while stroking his own slender, very hard cock. Severus couldn’t help looking at it, wanting it. When he tried to get up, Malfoy had his wand in his hand, pointed towards Severus’ chest._

_"Down!" he said. "Don't be a fool. You could try and Apparate home, ride the potion out on your own, but ... where would be the fun in that?”_

_Severus bit out through his clenched teeth, "I will never trust you again, Malfoy. Is that what you wanted?"_

_"You really shouldn’t trust me. Never should have," Malfoy whispered._

_Another wave hit Severus. Gods, he needed to be touched._

_He sank down on his knees again, panting, breathing fire. He clawed at the rug, arched and moved frantically, trying to ease the relentless lust. The whole room seemed to stand in flames, and every inch of his skin was burning with the need to be caressed, licked, kissed. His cock was as hard as steel now and his hole ..._ oh fuck _... he clenched, whining._

_Severus groaned and raised his head, looking at Malfoy with wild, black eyes._

_"Head down." Malfoy pushed his head with his bare foot onto the rug, and Severus complied without protest. Pure lust pulsed through him and although he knew he should get up and dress and leave he knew he couldn't._

_After what seemed to be an agonising eternity Malfoy stood up and positioned himself behind Severus. Just as Severus had begun to believe he wouldn't do anything else, Malfoy suddenly knelt down and pushed Severus cheeks apart, exposing the small, pink hole. Malfoy took his time and sat there staring at it._

_He involuntarily clenched in anticipation and need._

_Malfoy must have seen the muscle quiver, for he let out a laugh, then bent down and licked. The feel of it had Severus clawing again at the rug, grounding himself back against Malfoy's tongue like a cat in heat, shuddering._

_Then Malfoy stopped again and went back to his chair. Confused and dazed Severus looked at him._

_"Turn over, on your hands and knees." Malfoy ordered and Severus immediately obeyed._

_Malfoy smirked. "Good dog. Now crawl to me."_

_Severus moaned when he felt the effects of the potion strengthen. A very clinical part of him could name the ingredients and their effect on his system. He could tell how his heart rate sped up and knew how much time it took for the potion to spread through his body. In less than ten minutes he would be incapable of thinking of anything other than his urges. He knew, goddammit, he knew, and he was still absolutely powerless against it._

_Inside him a feral, wild being took his place, stretched itself into his lust crazed mind, filled his limbs, steered his bones, and he, Severus, could do nothing but stand aside and observe._

_Shivering, he crawled towards Malfoy, his erection swinging heavily between his legs. He noticed again with a certain detachment that he didn't care about dignity or pride any longer. These were foreign concepts now, useless in his state.   All he could see was Malfoy, that worthless bastard, shamelessly caressing himself._

_When he reached out to touch him, the wand was pointed at him again._

_"On your back," Malfoy said. His voice sounded cool and collected as if a glistening trail of precome wasn’t running down the head of his cock towards his balls. Severus stared at it, licking his lips. He longed to taste that clear fluid, longed to demean himself by begging for it, opening his mouth and offering himself._

_When Severus reached for his cock, Malfoy hissed. "Not like that. On your back, I said. I want to see everything from here. Show me what you want, whore."_

_Again, Severus didn't even think about resisting. He was too far gone by that point._

_Lying on his back, he spread his legs for Malfoy and began stroking himself. Without any shame, he wetted his fingers in his mouth and reached down to caress the soft skin of his sac. There was a tiny spot between his hole and his balls that liked to be pushed repeatedly. He lingered there a moment, before sliding further down._

_Malfoy watched, apparently fascinated. His tongue appeared between his lips while he wanked himself. A stream of swear words and insults poured out of his mouth, as if he couldn’t stop himself._

_Severus, who couldn’t even think about restraining himself now, pushed his fingers, two of them at once, into his hole. He immediately clenched and trembled violently. He nearly cried out with relief, lust, and shame._

_"Don't hold back," said Malfoy. "I want you to scream and moan like the slut you are."_

_And as if a dam broke inside him, Severus let himself go. Part of him was in disbelief that he could enjoy his own humiliation so much, could give himself over, and wondered if this might be a sign of love, of some real feeling for Malfoy. Was it otherwise possible that a simple potion could cause this abandon and torrent of emotions?   The other part of him merely revelled in it and wanted more, more of that wonderful heat and lust and sweat, and enjoyed begging and screaming for it, and didn't care the least for Malfoy's show of disdain._

_"Oh, yes, fuck yourself. This is what you need, what you want," said Malfoy, and finally he stood up and positioned himself over Severus. Severus spread his legs further, displaying himself as much as possible._

_He found the perfect angle. His whole body trembled violently and he couldn't stop spasming and he wanted! Oh! Oh Gods ... he wanted, needed it so much._

_Malfoy laughed cruelly. "Beg for it."_

_"Please ... oh ... please ... " he chanted loudly, and Malfoy stepped closer until he was standing over Severus' flushed face stroking his cock._

_Severus greedily opened his mouth._

_"Why should I give you this?" asked Malfoy. "Because you're a filthy cockslut?"_

_"Yes, yes, because I am a filthy cockslut!" whispered Severus eagerly and didn't even bother being disgusted by his own words. His cock twitched in his grasp, ready to come if only ... if only Malfoy would have mercy on him and spray him with that sweet, hot come. If only he would cover his face, his hair with it, fill his mouth, let him lap at it. Oh, he was so ready, and he begged mindlessly._

_"This is what you are."   Malfoy threw his head back while increasing the speed of his strokes. "Believe me at one point or the other we all have to face unpleasant truths about ourselves."_

_He bit his lip._

_"This is how I want you, my Severus." he breathed. "Less pride, less arrogance ... but you need this, don't you? You need to submit."_

_From underneath, Severus could see the hairless balls draw up, the skin looking so tight, and then, in sudden shock, he registered the wand in Malfoy's hand and that he had flicked it._

_He heard doors open, and voices, and laughing, and then Malfoy came, came all over his face, the way he had imagined it only moments before, and it was in his hair and in his mouth and he came too while swallowing greedily and he could only think, ’Yes! Oh! Yes!’ and that he had never come that hard ever before._

_When he turned his head he saw that the room was full with black-cloaked Death Eaters, their masks seeming to grin maliciously._

_He closed his eyes._

__Gods, no. __

_Malfoy smiled down at him, then turned and walked to his chair where he put his robes back on._

_"If you'll excuse me ... ," he said. "The potion will last a bit longer and I fear I don't have enough stamina for that."_

_One of the Death Eaters, possibly Nott from the way he moved, approached, parting his robes and revealing a red, hard prick._

_“He's all yours,” Malfoy said and strolled out, as if he were only taking a walk over his lawn._

_The door clicked softly and Severus found himself face to face with a rock hard erection. He began moving his fingers in his arse again, while lifting himself up a little to suck that cock. But even in this state, completely in the thrall of that potion, a potion he remembered developing and perfecting some months ago, he couldn’t help feeling something inside him break and a strange, immutable sadness filling him.  
_

**2009**

Over the next several days he kept himself busy. 

Potter told him that he didn't need to look through the older case files, as most were not due until next summer, but Severus refused to leave his office, staying late into the night, working. He even began to riffle through the stacks of unanswered missives and parchments, and to answer them and to reorganise his book shelves. 

He attended dinners and invitations, garnering one or two suspicious looks on occasion by Ronald Weasley and even Harry Potter.

It was good not to return too early to his empty, barren quarters in Diagon Alley. Every time he exited the Floo, he felt a strange restlessness. Even before he’d made tea and sat down to read, before even hanging up his cloak, that feeling gripped him. Every few minutes he got up and paced the room, looking for another book, pulling out another publication, making another cup of tea, looking out the window, staring down at the crowded, bustling Diagon Alley.

Once, he spent half an hour looking down on the cloaked and hooded masses while a light misty rain drizzled down. Following a sudden urge, he opened the French windows and seized the wrought iron balcony. A man was moving through the cobbled street, moving with familiar elegance, tall, but lithe and graceful and his breath caught. He followed him with his eyes and then, before the man turned to walk into a side street, his hood fell off and Severus saw a mass of fine, blonde hair. 

He leaned forward, knowing well it couldn’t be, that it wasn't possible. Then the man looked up, and of course it wasn't Malfoy. But, the hollowness he felt when the man revealed his features, a friendly, pretty northern face, cheeks too round to be Malfoy, upset him. He stepped back into his room and slammed the window shut.

Strange dreams plagued him. Every night he woke up in the middle of the night, often more than once, staring bewildered at the ceiling. Usually he didn’t remember his dreams in the morning, but these seemed to haunt him.   He dreamt of Lily, of Regulus, of Malfoy, his father, his mother, and Voldemort.  

His heart was aching constantly, physically, enough to send him to the Ministry infirmary. The Healer waved her wand over him, muttering some spell, told him he was fine. "You're very fit, I'd say," she said. "Indestructible."

But when he didn't relent, she agreed to refer him to St. Mungo's where two shockingly young Healers listened to his symptoms: heartache, insomnia and strange dreams. They too told him that there was nothing wrong with him and prescribed a Calming Draught.

"Stress." One of them diagnosed. "Work a little less." Her name tag read 'Harris'.  

The other added, “Take a vacation. Maybe get some sun.”  

He didn't need Legilimency to know that they thought he was getting a bit loopy in his old days.

After he returned to his office, he kept forgetting what he was doing, biting his lip in agitation and pacing the office. Finally he gave in and sent a note to Potter, who appeared within the next minute.  

"You called for me?"

Severus bit back his retort and merely thinned his lips. Potter would mistake it as a smile.

“Apologies for stating the obvious,” said Potter, taking a seat opposite Severus' desk. “I know you dislike that.”  

He glanced curiously around the office like a curious schoolboy, which increased Severus’ irritation.   “I have a favour to ask of you,” he said.

Potter's head swivelled instantly back to him, and there was a look of apprehension now in his gaze.

"The way you say it ... I feel I am not going to like it."

Severus leaned back, keeping his expressionless face. "I want all the intelligence we have on Lucius Malfoy."

Potter shook his head. "Er ... I really don't know ..."  

Severus kept his gaze trained on him.

Potter, not as intimidated as Severus wished him to be, looked back, a slight frown on his features.   "I can get you reports dating back to 1979 ... they are in my department and I have unrestricted access to them."

Severus inclined his head in thanks and raised an eyebrow.

"But that wouldn't be enough, would it?” stated Potter, identifying the expectant look in Severus’ eyes correctly.

“Do you have access to the court records of the Wizengamot trials?”

Potter carded his hand through his hair. “I can file a request, but it’ll take time. As Head Auror I can push the matter and get them within the next two months.”

"If I wanted to request them on the record I could have done so by myself."

Potter looked at him confused, then his eyes widened comically. "You aren't serious," he breathed, but when Severus’ gaze didn’t waver, he said, "You are."

"I would like to have a look at them _before_ my retirement. You are the only one I know who visits the viewing room regularly."

"But, I never take any reports or papers with me!" Potter said loudly, his cheeks flushed. "I can't violate the Ministry's regulations like that ..."

"Don’t be modest, Harry," Severus said, and smirked unpleasantly. 

Potter blushed again. "I was a schoolboy then."  

Severus said nothing but settled his eyes with a bored look on the big clock on the wall behind Potter.

After a minute of silence had passed, Potter said finally, "Ok, fine ... I'll do it."

When Severus finally went to see Malfoy again, it was not because he wanted him, or his touch, or the false, artificial caresses. He didn't need to see the grey eyes dilate in lust, the pale lips redden.   He went there to find out one last thing, one thing he had never, ever dared to ask him because he had never wanted to know the truth, not as long as he was still lying and scheming and spying for his two masters.

He had thought about it often during the lonely nights in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

He had asked Lily, whose bones had now long crumbled to earth and dust, had even addressed her worthless, idiotic husband's grave. Of course, the dead were dead and were not likely to speak to him, so he was left standing at their graves with only their silence and the occasional sound of a bird or the rustling of the leaves as an answer. But, he had never gone to the only one who could really give him an answer.

Perhaps it was fear that held him back. Maybe he was a coward after all.

After he had murdered Dumbledore, there had been no time for questions, for dwelling on the past. And after that, the questions no longer seemed to matter.

Only recently, since he had begun seeing Malfoy, punishing him for his crimes, had his curiosity been reawakened. Maybe his restlessness and the strange pain in his chest and his sleepless nights were due to this one question he needed to have answered.

It was a Friday evening when he Apparated to Tesco’s again. However he didn’t enter the crowded, bustling store, but sat on a bench in the car park.

Malfoy was at work. Severus could see him between two advertisements pasted onto a window, could even see that he seemed to be in a good mood. On the next cash register he could see Margaret. All of the registers were open and the queues were quite long. From where he was standing he couldn't even see the end of the queue. Outside, cars came and left every half a second, some of them throwing him strange glances. He had to admit that he probably looked outlandish in his long black coat and hat in the cool spring breeze.  

When he looked back, Margaret was running to the fruit section with what looked like bananas in her hand, and with a lucky glance saw him standing there. She waved. Now he couldn't just disappear quietly, so Severus stayed, fascinated by the commotion.

At first glance it looked like a carnival to him, with gigantic shopping trolleys filled with mysterious, gaudy coloured packages rushing this way and that. The Weasley twins would have been overjoyed at the sight.  After a few minutes of staring, he could recognise patterns: the entrances, the aisles full with food and grocery items, the checkouts and the exits, the movement of people toward one aisle, the queues forming at their ends. Now and then someone left the cash register and was promptly replaced by another blue-clad employee. Sometimes there were loudspeaker announcements backed by strained jingles, or sometimes one of the people at the cash register pushed a button and they made them, minus the music.  Severus saw Malfoy do it once. He leant into a stalk-like thing, fiddled with it, and then spoke, and Severus barely resisted the urge to walk inside only to listen to Malfoy's melodic voice floating over the aisles.  

Half an hour before they closed, he did walk inside. He bought a can of peaches. Malfoy looked at him and nodded.

Later they walked through darkened streets in silence to Malfoy's flat. When they arrived, for the first time Severus noticed that there were no pictures of Draco or Narcissa. There was only one picture, a replica of a painting, four black squares on an ivory coloured background, set diagonal against each other. Severus looked at it, fascinated by Malfoy’s choice.  

“Did you know that Mondrian and Van Doesburg fell out because of the use of parallel lines in the paintings?”

Severus didn’t know and didn’t care, but he liked that Malfoy knew such a Muggle thing. He wouldn’t admit it, but the idea of Malfoy softening his attitude toward Muggles once he was forced to live with them was comforting. He wanted to be proven wrong about people and their stubborn resistance to change, or maybe he only wanted to be wrong about Malfoy.

  This time Severus didn't attempt to hurt him. In a way, it was futile. 

They fucked, and it was ... familiar already. The way they undressed, and the way Malfoy endured Severus handling him roughly while touching him almost reverently. It was intense and wild and desperate like the other times before, but the knowledge of each others bodies took away that edge of violence without Severus being able to prevent it. He could not help himself but to be careful with Malfoy's weak knees and he noticed how Malfoy avoided the sensitive scar on his neck. Afterwards, Severus fell asleep again despite promising himself he wouldn’t. And again, he awoke in silence, capable of not changing his breathing pattern, of not moving a finger.

He felt Malfoy's gaze on him.

"I have a question," he finally asked into the darkness.

"Yes," Malfoy whispered. 

Severus opened his eyes and allowed himself to adjust to the darkness. He could see Malfoy’s pale face hovering near him.

"Yes, I was the one who convinced the Dark Lord to kill your Lily. I wanted to crush that flower that possessed you. It was the only way to ensure your loyalty to our cause, to cut off every escape route."  

Severus didn't move or reply. He silently endured Malfoy's strangely caressing touch. After a while he fell asleep again, only to wake in the early morning hours.  

He got dressed in silence and then Apparated home.

After work he went down to his potions lab. He seldom had the opportunity to brew much these days, but sometimes he still felt the need to spend time there. Nowadays though, his work consisted more of analysing and identifying poisons rather than creating them himself.  

He had to Levitate a number of vials and containers out of a locked cabinet, until only a tiny flask remained, looking like a cheap souvenir from Morocco that had mistakenly found its way to the bottom shelf. He opened it and sprinkled a drop of it at the back of the cabinet.

Immediately a door appeared and silently swung open.   Empty space.

Severus had always been a careful man, especially after Potter and his friends had managed to break into his cabinet at Hogwarts. After that, he’d finally decided to take more serious precautions. Instead of merely erecting wards that someone like Potter could dismantle and slice through in less than ten minutes, he had created the small secret space behind the locked cabinet.  

With an angry movement he slashed his wand through the air and waited. The wall behind the cabinet vanished and very thin, long-enchanted glass containers slowly became visible, layers of spells and protection peeling away, glowing slightly with the potions in them.

He sat, lost in memories, thinking of that boy who had spent nights, months over these formulas, filled with so many ideas and desires. He had thought of ways to get Lily back from James Potter one day. He would be wealthy and powerful beyond imagination, respected ... beloved.  

He had imagined himself in velvet robes, cloaks spun from the finest wool, wearing gloves of the most expensive leather, soft as butter. Lily would have not asked him for forgiveness or admit that she had been wrong, because Lily, his adorable, stubborn Lily, would never have done such a thing, but he would have been able to read the awe and admiration in her eyes, her disbelief.  

She wouldn't have been as beautiful anymore.   In his fantasy she was worn out by a strained marriage to Potter, by her regrets. She'd have had dark circles under her eyes, flour stuck in her hair, stains on her dress. One or two children clinging to her skirt, and her smile would have been a little tired. "I never stopped thinking of you," she'd have said. And he would have taken her hand in his, and her eyes would have lit up in a way they had never lit up for him before. Finally, finally, she would have seen him, really seen him, and he would have said: "I came back for you, and I won't leave without you."

Severus couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the foolish child he once had been. What dreams had filled his head, his heart. And now, he was sitting here alone in his house, aged before time and bitter, while all the dreams and high hopes he had harboured had become ghosts of the past.   He had thought that by protecting her child, for her, he would struggle free of his demons. Naively he had hoped that on that day when he had repaid his debts, he would be granted forgiveness. Or peace. Or death.

_Yes, death would have been ... acceptable._

It would have been a fitting end, worthy of a hero. At least in death he would have achieved a semblance of the glory he had once dared to desire for himself.  Finally he would have been able to rest, to sleep and maybe meet her again, see her kind, brave face again, or at least sink into nothingness and oblivion.

In the end, only the thought of being completely erased held comfort for him. When he had felt the blood drain from his body, when he had looked into Harry Potter's face, the world had drawn itself together into a tiny little point and become a tunnel. Suddenly there had been no floor, no voices, no blood, just ... darkness. At that very moment, he had felt a single brief notion of happiness.  

And here he was, back in this hell that people called life, unable to leave, tethered to the mortal coil once more.  

He dreamt of Lily, even now. In his dreams she was young, the way she had been years before she had died.  In some of them she was at the playground, where he had first seen her. She was on a battered swing, laughing and flying higher and higher. He wanted to call out to her to be careful but he had no voice and she did not see him.   She was flying too high, and the chains of the swing were creaking dangerously, ominously, yet she didn’t stop laughing.

He was frantic. The sky was too blue to be real and that was why he always knew he was dreaming. The sky over Spinner's End had never been that blue. Soon a cold chill would wash over him, icy fear would grip him, and he would feel the presence of danger, of death. He looked around wildly, and Malfoy stood watching Lily, silent like a marble angel. His robes were fluttering in the wind and his hand was raised, and suddenly Severus knew that he was here to kill Lily.  

Severus raised his wand and screamed, "Avada Kedavra," and it all stopped. Malfoy was gone and the horrible creaking of the swing came to an abrupt halt. Turning slowly, he went towards it.

It was Malfoy slumped in the seat, not Lily, his fair hair dripping blood. He whispered and hummed something like a lullaby under his breath, but when Severus brought his ear close to Malfoy’s lips, trying to understand what he was saying, he woke up.  

Then, there were the other dreams in which he dreamt he was in Lily’s small living room, reading and studying together. The window was open and it was sunny, a light breeze playing with the ivory-coloured curtains. From outside he could hear the sound of children screaming as they played and chased each other.

Lily tugged at his sleeve to show him something in the heavy book they were reading, but when he glanced down the page was empty. He frowned at her, but she only smiled and drew something with her finger on the page. One long stroke down, then a short stroke in a sharp angle upwards to the right, and then down, the third stroke long again. She laughed with glee at his confusion and continued drawing the sign. He was still staring at the empty page when there was a loud knock on the door and Lily got up to open it.   He traced the paper with his fingers, remembering the path hers had taken. Down. Right and up.

Then down again, and suddenly the sigel appeared, bleeding dark red through the parchment.  

A lightning bolt, the rune for energy, for light and victory. The sun.

He looked up, ignoring the open door, and said, "It's not the sign of the sun; it’s the sign of death." But as soon as he spoke, Lily was standing in front of him, covered in blood and shaking with laughter.  

He always awoke at that point, lonely in the darkness of his own bedroom, sheets tangled around him and sweaty.  

Severus shook his head. It was time to end the dreams. He raised his long, white finger and caressed the vials. Like pets who knew their owners they warmed to his touch, slid against his palm. Then, he took potion No. 17, the one that glowed yellow and honey-like, more like a promise of sunlight and lazy afternoons than what it truly was. He closed the wall with an incantation, the vials fading from sight, and with another, the wall slid back into place. Silently he Levitated the other potions and ingredients back onto the shelves, the soft clinking of glass the only sound in the room.  

He held the vial in his hand, fascinated by its colour and heavy, cool weight. He remained motionless, paralysed by the gravity of the decision he had made until the room was shrouded in darkness.  There was only one way to put them to rest, to give Lily her peace, to chase the memories of Regulus away. There was only one way to end the dreams. It all had to end, and it would end very soon.  

Perhaps because of his decision, he managed to stay away from Malfoy for a whole month this time.

_  
**Spring 1977** _

_The first time Malfoy touched him, Severus didn't flinch. He knew a little of what Malfoy wanted. In his third year he had kissed a girl, and some months later he had managed to sneak his hand into her knickers while kissing her. Last year he had kissed a boy and they had rubbed against each other, but someone was coming before they could wank each other off, and they had both fled._

_"Finally," Malfoy whispered, and Severus felt sudden alarm, that perhaps this wasn't a spur of the moment thing. Malfoy wanted this, had wanted him, had probably planned this moment. Severus studied the face above him, the triumph and undisguised greed in the grey eyes. Something in them unsettled him. He had never thought of it before, but Malfoy was taller and stronger than him, older, more experienced. If he would put up a fight, would Malfoy let him go? Severus desperately wanted, needed Malfoy to like him, but he also felt the idiotic urge to run away._

_"Are you afraid?" Malfoy asked scornfully. “Like a child?”_

_"Of course not," Severus snapped, and Malfoy smiled.   Frantically he looked for an excuse. "Someone could see us ..."_

_"It's my home. I can do whatever I want," whispered Malfoy.   He pushed himself on top of Severus and began grinding his hips into Severus’. "Oh yes," he hissed. Severus looked at him wide-eyed. "How old are you?"_

_"Seventeen," Severus managed._

_"Good," hissed Malfoy, his smiling face strangely flushed. "Kiss me."_

_"What? I— " This was going too fast and Malfoy's intensity scared him. Malfoy acted like someone who had to wait too long, who was finally getting what he had wanted all along. Malfoy ignored his protests and pressed his lips against him._

_The tearing of fabric made him jerk._

_"No," he said, then cursed himself for showing his panic. Malfoy laughed and kissed him again._

_"Hush," he whispered, "you'll like it."_

_"Not ... now," Severus muttered, struggling weakly against Malfoy, even contemplating calling for help. "No—"_

_Malfoy touched his cock then, and Severus’ eyes fluttered closed. It did feel good. Malfoy pushed the fingers of his other hand into Severus’ mouth._

_"Suck them," he ordered, and Severus, confused, obeyed._

_"Yes, make them wet," said Malfoy. After a minute or so, he pulled them out slowly and caressed Severus’ cleft with it. Severus nearly jumped off the bed, but Malfoy’s arm restrained him._

_"Close your eyes," he commanded._

_"He's going to bugger me," Severus thought frantically. He had heard that this hurt like hell and made one bleed when not done correctly. He didn’t even touch himself down there when he wanked._

_Severus realised that it was too late. He was undressed and alone with Malfoy and it was all his fault because he had not said no from the beginning, and of course Malfoy assumed he was more experienced. It would do no good to anger him now, and he could not run away like a scared girl, otherwise Malfoy would never let him live it down.   The thought of Malfoy wanting him was too much to bear._

_Besides, Malfoy was a powerful ally. It would be insane to refuse him._

_Malfoy moaned and rubbed himself, his hard cock against Severus’ thigh. A finger entered him, and all Severus could think of was that it was embarrassing and dirty and he had to push it out. He knew that his face was glowing beet red. Malfoy began pushing ... in and out, stopped to add more spit, then slipped it in deeper, watching Severus intently. Suddenly it felt ... good, in a strange, hot way, as if it were very warm. As the finger moved again, it was as if it touched something inside him that was connected to his balls and to his cock.   He looked down and his cock was hard now. Malfoy smirked at him._

_"Oh ..." Severus breathed. He noticed that he had started to move._

_"Hold up your legs,"   Malfoy said._

_There was no disobeying him now, so Severus pulled his knees up and held himself open, cringing inwardly at himself. But whatever Malfoy did, it felt so very good, and he soon began to moan quietly.   Malfoy took his time. After a while he took a vial out of the night stand and poured it on Severus' hole, then pushed a second finger inside. Severus nearly howled, but Malfoy gripped his cock and stroked him._

_"Does that feel good?" he asked, breathing heavily.   Severus could only nod. It was painful ... and still it felt wrong and it was fucking brilliant. He never wanted this to stop.  "Oh, please ..."_

_Malfoy oiled his cock, and Severus knew what was to come. Panic seized him anew when Malfoy pressed the head of his cock against his slick entrance. He wasn't even sure if he was afraid of the pain. He was more afraid of something embarrassing happening, like not having his digestion under control or being dirty inside._

_"Don't tense up," purred Malfoy. "Relax."_

_Severus closed his eyes and then felt Malfoy pushing inside. It burnt and he thought he would scream and then ... and then it began to feel different. He could feel Malfoy’s balls against his arse, an oddly arousing feeling. Malfoy moved, pulled his cock out, then pushed it slowly inside again. A tiny spark ignited inside him, then like a wave, it rolled over him, and suddenly Severus arched and screamed.  Malfoy fucked him faster. Every time he pushed in, Severus’ arse clenched and rippled, and though he was ashamed of how much he enjoyed it, he couldn’t prevent spiralling higher and higher with his orgasm, writhing and sobbing and begging. Malfoy stroked Severus’ cock, and immediately he came, releasing a hot flood of white onto his stomach and chest. Almost the same moment, he heard Malfoy call out, felt the cock pulsing and spasming inside him, and it felt oh, so very good.  
_

**2009**

Malfoy smiled when he saw the can of peaches approaching him on the belt. "Somewhere by now you must have an enormous stock of tinned peaches," he said.

“I want to know about Regulus,” said Severus without preamble.  Malfoy's smile didn't change as he scanned the can and put it into a plastic bag.

“Very well, then,” he said. “That'll be seventy-five pence.”

Severus took his peaches and left, but instead of Apparating, he sat down on the bench opposite the entrance and watched the supermarket.  

Finally, after Severus had waited for half an hour, Malfoy walked out of the alley. One of his colleagues was with him, talking excitedly to him in the way of young men anywhere in the world. Malfoy inclined his head in a too-friendly way, smiling, then shook his head, laughing. He seemed to enjoy the attention of his young co-worker, who continued talking to him.  

Severus suddenly got up and crossed the street. "Leo," he said. "Are you ready to go?" The other man whirled around and frowned at him.

"Simon, this is my colleague, Dave Miller," Malfoy said, his eyes tired, probably from looking at the screen all day.  

Miller nodded. "Nice to meet you," he mumbled, but looked mulish.  

Severus merely smirked. He laid a possessive hand on Malfoy's arm and pulled him away. "We are in a bit of a hurry." Miller glared at Severus' hand but caught himself.

"Well, then ... see ya tomorrow!" He squared his shoulders and put his hands into his jeans pockets and only reluctantly turned away.  

They passed shops and other people on the street, but soon there were only brick buildings, more trees, some benches.  

"You wanted to talk about Regulus," Malfoy said.  Severus nodded grimly. He realised he was still holding Malfoy's arm in a pincer like grip and released him suddenly.  

They rounded a corner, emerging onto a big road with three-car lanes. Trucks roared past and Severus looked sideways at Malfoy, again struck by the utter surrealism of the moment: Malfoy standing beside him in Muggle clothes on Long Lane, deep in Muggle London.

On the other side was a big park with benches standing a few metres apart from each other. As soon as they walked through the gates, they were surrounded by lush greens. In the distance Severus could see a children’s playground. A group of young mothers were chatting with each other while their children ran around them.  

They were walking slower now, with Malfoy throwing glances at him, but Severus concentrated on the gravel path.   

"Regulus' death was inevitable," said Malfoy. "You know that, and you knew it then."  

"You didn't tell Voldemort about him?"  

Malfoy fell silent for a while then said, "Of course, I did."

Severus' hand found the vial in his pocket and the humming warmth it sent into his palm was like a calling. Malfoy said a bit impatiently, "He was a filthy traitor, a coward. I did what I had to do."  

"So, that is why you went to Voldemort and told them about Regulus’ hiding spot?" Severus asked, hating the sadness that crept into his voice. He could have wept and he didn't even know for whom.  

"Severus!" Malfoy exclaimed in an amused tone. "You knew I would go to the Dark Lord. When you chose to confide in me, you had already sacrificed Regulus. You knew exactly what had to happen from there on, and I won't have you make me believe you were not aware. You merely could not acknowledge it. I did it for you."  

Severus stared at him before nodding slowly, his face a blank, white mask.  

They were walking back, taking a side street now. The sun was setting.  

"You loved him?" Malfoy asked coldly. "Back in those days, you loved anyone who was remotely kind to you, didn't you? Are you still like that?" His face was twisted into an ugly sneer as he said it.   

It was almost dark outside by the time they reached Malfoy's place. Malfoy switched on the light and immediately went to the bathroom to take a shower, retaining his old habit of leaving a trail of clothing on the floor. He left the door open while he was showering, the smell of cheap soap and shampoo soon filling the air. Severus watched him in silence, but this time Malfoy stared at the opposite wall while he washed his hair.  

“You did this to me because of Regulus,” Severus said suddenly to himself. “You thought I was fucking Regulus.”

The sound of the water answered him.  

Later, Severus was again inside Malfoy, pushing relentlessly. Malfoy had his eyes closed. Shortly before he came, Severus gripped Malfoy’s chin and said, "Look at me." Malfoy only reluctantly opened his eyes and then attempted to look away.  

"Is there no remorse in you?" Severus whispered. "Don't you feel anything?" He thrust and felt satisfaction at Malfoy's keening sound.  

"What is it to you?" gasped Malfoy, arching. Severus ground his belly against Malfoy's hard cock. Malfoy murmured something then cried out, and Severus felt the slickness of Malfoy's hot come between them, felt him shuddering, trembling around him, sucking him into oblivion.  

He woke up, again in complete darkness and dismayed that he had apparently passed out. When he moved, he realised that he was still lying on top of Malfoy, who was staring at the ceiling.  

"I hear you’re in a high position now in the Ministry," Malfoy said to the ceiling. “Consultant, Potions expert. Right hand of the Minister.”  

"Not that high, but comfortable enough," Severus grumbled sleepily.  

"And still, you have to come here to get off," Malfoy said. "How have you survived the last ten years?"  

_  
**Winter 1974** _

_Like Sirius, Regulus had learned to play the piano, something that Severus had always found amusing. Most pureblood wizards had to learn some type of instrument because their parents believed that being able to play music enhanced the magical core, enabled better access, stability, understanding._

_"The piano is a Muggle instrument," Severus had not been able to resist pointing out, knowing it was not an original thing to say._

_"The piano is a construction manufactured from woods and strings. The person playing it can be a Muggle or a wizard," said Regulus impatiently._

_"The piano was invented by Muggles," Severus said. "Music was invented by Muggles. I don’t know of any wizard composers."_

_"That sounds very much like the sort of propaganda Dumbledore and his people spread to make us sound like Muggle-haters," Regulus frowned. “We don’t despise Muggles and their inventions. I don’t care if they invented the piano, as Muggles have done great things.”_

_"To call someone 'Mudblood' isn't a convincing way to prove that point."_

_"It's beside the point, as is Dumbledore's whole line of argument. I am not like some of the vulgar and common wizards out there who just hate Muggles. That would be racism and I don't have anything to do with racism. But, it’s in the best interest of everyone that the two worlds are separated. The Wizarding world must be protected. The Muggles are procreating at an immense rate, and frankly there are many problems because of that. A hundred years ago it was easy to live peaceably, but nowadays we face many more problems because of the sheer number of Muggles. Now we have to hide because they’re bigoted and fearful and violent." Regulus paused in his speech, his cheeks flushed with anger._

_“It’s going to be a task to kill all of them,” Severus said lazily, caressing the silken wood of the piano._

_“Don’t play Devil’s Advocate with me,” Regulus snapped. “I heard you calling that Hufflepuff First Year a Mudblood, too. So what? Some really are, but there are no evil plans to kill anyone. Lord Voldemort will be Minister one day. Why should he go around and kill Muggles? We are good people. But, why not let Muggles live in the ghettos we are confined to for a change? Look at all the violence between them, the wars, the unrests. Voldemort’s idea of building places where they would be, well, monitored so they cannot destroy the world is only practical.” He closed the heavy wooden lid carefully._

_"Anyway, what really is my point? My grandmother bought this monster in 1912 and it's a 'Nemetschke', as she always says. It’s not as common as a Boesendorfer or a Steinway but still a Viennese instrument, and it was fucking expensive too, I can tell you. And, it still doesn't make me a good player. I'm a rotten player no matter how fine the piano is."_

_He laughed.  
_

**2009**

"I wished you hadn’t betrayed me," Severus said. Malfoy's head was resting on his shoulder.

"Always the past," he said mockingly. "Let the dead go. Believe me, they don't need to hear your incessant whining. All they want is to rest in peace." He raised his head and smiled.  

"You deliberately misunderstand me, Malfoy."

"You are a complicated person. You don’t even understand yourself."  

"What if the dead don't have a place to rest in peace?" Severus stroked Malfoy's hair, combed it with his fingers, tugging at it, ignoring Malfoy's pained grimace.

"The dead are not our business."

“How can you say that? Don't you feel any remorse at all?”

Malfoy pushed himself up. "In a war, there are casualties," he hissed. "And before you ask, yes, I would kill mudbloods again, if I could. And once Draco is married with the Weasley girl I will return."  

Severus didn't think that was worth a reply.

"People don't know what it was like in those days. They would have done the same," Malfoy continued. "What was I supposed to do?"  

Severus got up and got dressed.  

"The things you did to me ... " he said into the darkness. "Did you also have to do them?"  

Malfoy fell silent. He could hear the rustling of bed sheets and when he looked back, he saw that Malfoy was lying down again, covered in his blanket and facing the wall.

 

_  
Come to my office, one o’clock sharp._

_H.  
_

Severus made it to his office five minutes before one o’clock, despite being waylaid by several colleagues in the corridor. Everyone was talking about the elections now, attempting to gain inside information from Severus.  

Finally he made it to the lift, only to have to endure more talk about who had the best chances of becoming the new Minister of Magic.  

"Johnson is a good man," a witch said, carefully levitating a stack of parchments.  

"Johnson is a bureaucrat," someone else said to her, a young red-haired boy who reminded him of the dead Weasley boy. “Such a bore.”  

“The Minister’s job is not to keep you entertained,” she said to him, but she smiled. "Oh, Mr. Snape," she said, recognising him. "What do you say about Johnson?"

"I think Wolfe-Brown will make it," said someone else in the lift before he could reply.  

"He's a shameless, slimy populist," an old wizard said. The witch and the red-haired boy turned their heads around to see who dared speak such offensive words in the Ministry.   The old wizard was wearing a grey robe, but underneath a stripe of plum fabric identified him as a member of the Wizengamot.  

"Well, I know now whose vote he won't get," the redhead stage-whispered.

"It doesn't mean I won't vote for him," said the old man impatiently. "The importance of character is overrated in these matters."   He didn't explain his statement, but pushed his way out of the lift when it came to an abrupt halt.  

"I meant _my_ vote!" the redhead called after him before the lift grilles closed again.  "Yes, never mind integrity. Way too overrated!" He smirked, whereupon the witch sighed and smiled at him again.  

He was very young, Severus thought, and with a start was reminded of Regulus. Regulus had said things like that. Severus watched the young man from the side, replaying the exchange again in his head, and knew he had never been like him ... or Regulus.

_And while he is dead ... I live._

The lift stopped again, and he nodded briefly towards the witch and the redhead and got out.  

 

Regulus had liked tinned peaches for breakfast. Not the fresh, ripe ones that the house elves served in summer, but the ordinary skinned and halved, much-too-sweet ones.  

After all these years, Severus remembered that one thing most: the smell of the sugary peaches wafting over the Slytherin table when Regulus sat down for breakfast. He remembered many other things too, but Regulus’ obsession with peaches was the first thing that came to his mind.  

He remembered how Regulus had liked his books stacked in a certain way; how he’d had a little silver wand holder, like a holster; how he’d carried a silver flask with him, usually filled with whisky for which he got in trouble in sixth year; how he’d had a strict ritual for dressing and undressing: first pulling the robe over his head, then hanging it up before unbuttoning his shirt and hanging that up as well. He would slide the belt out and lay it carefully on the belt rack, step carefully out of his trousers and fold them neatly along the crease. Only then would he remove his pants. His socks were last, just before he got into bed.

It was a performance in itself and never changed. In fact, he’d admitted how he disliked any kind of change, preferring to cling to often illogical habits.  

He had never drunk the milk first, as others did; rather he ate the peaches first, cutting them with his fork. His habits extended into every part of his life, such as always brushing his teeth in the shower and using two towels to dry himself: one for the face and the neck, the other for the body.  

After the war, when Severus was lying in a painful, tortuously long Stasis charm, he realised he remembered _everything_ about Regulus. His mind just refused to forget. Not a day passed when he didn’t think about him. Of course mostly his thoughts were full of regret. He should have been brave enough to attempt to thwart the Dark Lord like Regulus had. He envied him for having seen the man for what he truly was long before Severus did, instead of being manipulated and brainwashed.  

Every time Severus remembered Regulus, he wished with all his heart that he had forced Regulus to tell him the truth, to tell him why he was turning his back on Voldemort, why he had so abruptly changed his mind. Regulus had become quieter and quieter and Severus had not understood why. Regulus had been one of the reasons why he had begun to attend the Death Eater meetings in the first place. Back then, the situation had filled him with unease, but he had not dared to make Regulus talk to him out of fear of finding himself between sides.

Regulus had been a paradox at times, so emphatic, sweet and good, yet also inconsiderate, arrogant and foolish. He had loved Shakespeare and quoted Foucault, played piano, sang Beatles songs and still ... in third year he had maintained that he agreed with the Dark Lord’s ideas, faithfully repeating his speeches and the things he heard at home at the dinner table. But so had Nott, Avery, Rosier and Malfoy, the Black sisters, Rodolphus Lestrange, even the moderate Zabini. There had been Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who had supported Voldemort in those days. Even Gryffindors.  

Severus had always been fascinated by Regulus. He had thought him similar to his Lily who, under her sweet demeanour, had hidden her razor sharp intellect and her considerable powers. Growing up in that mysterious, powerful and wealthy family had left its mark on Regulus, and the working class child in Severus had found that intriguing.  

He never had understood why Regulus had befriended him. Maybe it had been because they’d both been good at their studies and had taken their subjects seriously, at least more seriously than the other boys did, who only had thoughts for Quidditch and sex and not necessarily in that order. And although he had never ever told Regulus, he’d always been immensely grateful for that tentative and cautious friendship. Being respected and liked by Regulus Black had been equal to being untouchable. But even later, when Regulus was on the run, Severus had not entirely wrapped his mind around the fact that the prince of Black, the beloved son of Walburga and Orion Black, had trusted him.  

It seemed in the end that Regulus Black had been such a good Gryffindor. Like a brave little soldier, he had gone to his death, swallowing his poison, his head held high.  

Malfoy, on the other hand, had been pretty but transparent. Severus had understood on some level that Malfoy had wanted him, though he hadn’t understood what for and so had been wary of him. At that time it hadn't seemed to be important. Malfoy always wanted something in exchange for his friendship. Malfoy seemed to like him but he had never been as loyal to him as Regulus had been.   

In their fourth or fifth year, Malfoy had told him that Regulus' family would never accept him.

"As soon as Regulus graduates, you will never hear from him again," he had warned.  

"What about you, then? Will you socialise with me outside of Hogwarts and the Manor?" Severus had asked viciously. "Will you invite me to your merry gatherings at Yule and to your garden parties or to your wedding with Miss Black?"

Malfoy hadn't answered, merely raising his eyebrow as if Severus had said something distasteful and foul.

 

The loud clank of the lift doors shook Severus out of his musings to find he had reached the fourth floor where Potter’s office was.

Potter was already pacing the office nervously. How this man had slain Voldemort was beyond him sometimes. Now he almost pissed himself because he’d borrowed a stack of court records. Ridiculous.  

"Merlin, Severus! There you are!" He flicked his wand and the door thudded closed behind him with such force that his robes fluttered. He carded his hand nervously through his hair.  

"Did you manage to acquire what I asked of you?" Severus said instead of a greeting.  

"Good to see you, too. Thank you for asking, I am fine," said Potter waspishly. He gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. "How are you? And, oh, you're welcome."

Severus didn’t argue, just took the offered seat, carefully watching Potter’s agitated manner.  

"I need to know why you need these files," Potter blurted out. "After all these years."  

"It’s a private affair."   

"What?" Potter gaped at him. "You ... you let me steal highly confidential material because of a ... _a private affair_?"  

Severus narrowed his eyes.

"What exactly is your difficulty with that?" he asked. "I don't recall you being so fastidious about private matters before, _Harry_."  

Potter stared at him for a while, then laughed. "I don't know anyone who can hold a grudge longer than you can."  

“I merely wished to inform myself about the extent of Malfoy’s influence and activities in the seventies and the eighties. And I wanted to see for myself how far he was involved.”

“I thought you knew all of this,” said Potter, astonished.   "I mean you were there ..."

“No, the Dark Lord was always very careful about sharing information,” Severus replied.

Potter sighed, then went to a wall and pushed his palm against the wallpaper. The wall recognised his hand and turned into a locked cabinet that he opened with his wand. Severus saw several stacks of parchments which Potter took out and placed on the desk in front of Severus.  

"There's a lot more," Potter said hoarsely, "but I couldn't possibly get hold of everything in one go. So, I'd appreciate it if you could look at everything tonight and then I can take it back in the morning. I can bring you more information after that, if you really need it."  

"You looked at it, of course."

"Of course, Severus." Potter sounded exasperated.  

“See anything you liked?”  

Potter snorted.

 

"Haven't you ever asked yourself where your father went?" Malfoy asked the next time they were lying in bed together. He seemed impatient, restless. 

 Severus’ face betrayed no emotion.

"He always wanted to leave England," he said slowly.  

"He never did," said Malfoy, looking straight into Severus’ eyes. With a flash of guilt, Severus realised he hadn't thought of his father for a while now.

Somehow he had always refused to think he was dead. Had it been the summer after his graduation when he had left? He only had a vague memory that Eileen had been away, too. Since he had been actively involved with the Death Eaters, he’d been grateful for the absence of his parents and so hadn’t bothered with where they were. Eileen had come back in the middle of the night, knowing no more than Severus about where her husband was. It was only when she went to bed that she found his letter and a thick, impressive stack of money underneath her pillow.  

They had called Bertie, Tobias’ old school mate with whom he still regularly hung out. Severus still remembered his mother on the phone, frowning and trying to make sense of Bertie's drunken speech. Another week had passed and they had debated if they should call the police, report him missing. But both of them, Eileen and Severus, had felt that if Tobias had finally made good on his threats to leave "that shithole" and go to India or Tibet, it wouldn’t be a good idea to set the police on him. Knowing him, Tobias would probably carry enough pot with him to send a whole village on a trip, and they probably would unwittingly land him in prison. Quietly, they had packed his things away in boxes and stored them in the attic: his beloved "Kapital", his collection of old fashioned porn magazines, his beer cap collection, and his King Crimson and Procul Harum records.

As little as he knew of his mother, he knew she hadn’t really missed him. Her life became easier without him, now able to frequent her Pureblood parents' home more often. He, too, was sometimes grateful for his father's decision to go and bore someone else with his conspiracy theories. Severus had never known what to make of his feelings. His father hadn’t been a bad man and had tried hard enough to take care of them, but his mind had been so very simple. Even as a thirteen year old, Severus had never been able to hold a conversation with his old man and not smirk. With even more guilt, he remembered how he had often thought what a _typical Muggle_ he was: over credulous; impressionable ... always repeating the newest nonsense he read in the papers; always telling him what he would do better, if he were a "magician".  

After his mother had died, he had got rid of the boxes altogether.  

No, it had been for the better that Tobias had left. The times had been dangerous for Muggles married to witches and wizards anyway, and it would have been just a matter of time before one of Voldemort's henchmen had visited.  

"You killed him," said Severus without any inflexion. Nothing in his voice or face betrayed his emotions.  

"Look into my mind," Malfoy whispered. "See for yourself."

Severus laughed. "I don't think so, Malfoy."  

Malfoy leant back, smiling smugly. He reached over and took a bottle of gin from the night stand. Severus grasped his wrist.  

"Not that I don't appreciate the interesting decoys and lies planted by our Lord into those minds incapable of perfecting the fine art of Occlumency, but I think I will pass," Severus sneered. "And speaking of ... how is your immunity against Veritaserum holding up? Our Lord’s little gift to us. Even after his death, I'm still able to drink that stuff like water and tell people with a straight face that I am _innocent_."  

Severus smiled again, revealing pale, long teeth. He felt sick and weary and disgusted but couldn't tell if he was disgusted with himself or with Malfoy or with everything. He leant closer to Malfoy.  

"So, what about you? Can you tell people with a straight face that you're ... innocent?"  

Malfoy looked away. "I assumed that with the loss of my magic abilities, the protection I was given by the Dark Lord also vanished."

"There really is no way to tell anyway," dismissed Severus, leaning back again.  

"Well then, old friend, why should I lie to you about such things?"

"Why would you tell me? Would it not be far more prudent to attempt to get into my good graces? Or, do you suppose yourself still in a superior position?"  

"It won't do you any good to underestimate me," Malfoy said, sneering. "But then, you always did. You always thought that I built my life on my good looks." He laughed an unpleasant, shrill laugh. "Had you not made that mistake, Regulus and your Mudblood bitch, oh, and your father, of course, would still be alive. It's high time you began learning from your mistakes."

And, Severus laughed. He threw his head back and laughed. Malfoy stopped, torn between confusion and disgust, and merely looked at him, wide-eyed.  

"I should," agreed Severus, sobering up abruptly and assuming his bored, cold mask again so fast that Malfoy blinked.  

"He was a brave little Muggle," Malfoy said. "Stubborn as hell, but he only asked to be allowed to write you a letter and leave you the money he had saved under the mattress. Then we drowned him like a dog, but he went to his death with his head held high." He inspected his nails as if he were bored by his own tale.  

"More than can be said of you, Malfoy," said Severus with clenched teeth.

Malfoy traced Severus’ jaw with a teasing finger. "There is something to be said for surviving."

_  
**Summer 1973** _

_It was a tradition that during the summer months the Slytherin upper years were invited to stay at Malfoy Manor. Only a few selected third years were included in the invitation and so it came as a surprise when an elegant, cream-coloured parchment was dropped into Severus' porridge by a disdainful looking owl. Although Severus refused to go, Eileen and Tobias, who usually did what his wife said, insisted. Eileen emphasised the good connections he could make, "It's never too early to build a network," to which Tobias added unnecessarily, “You can practice your ... you know ... magic tricks.” Neither Eileen nor Severus had ever been able to convince him that magic was not pulling rabbits out of a hat. So, Severus had to go, clutching a new valise Tobias had bought him for the occasion plus summer robes that had been Eileen's and charmed black to cover up the pink seams._

_The first thing that puzzled Severus was the absence of adults. There were a few beautiful women floating around, one of them Abraxas’ older, blonde, blue-eyed sister, and the other a distant, penniless cousin who was allowed to "visit" but actually hadn't lived anywhere else for several years. But although they were friendly and courteous, they went their own way, leaving sometimes for days in a row to go shopping to Paris or Rome, not troubled at all with leaving a horde of teenagers free to disturb the peace._

_Severus noticed how they were friendly to Malfoy but never treated him in a parental or even personal way. It was very odd, and in the beginning he envied Malfoy a little for his freedom. At least he didn't have a father who was ranting about everyone and everything. On his first day there, everyone had been told that Abraxas was away on business, but after two weeks had passed, Severus couldn't help but wonder what kind of business would keep a wizard who could Apparate or Floo from his family, his only son._

_It was a few days later that Severus came across a portrait of a golden-haired, stunningly beautiful woman, who smiled politely but refused to talk to him. He was startled to see how much Malfoy resembled her. When he asked the older Slytherins who she was, they told him it was probably his mother._

_"Where is she?" Severus asked._

_"Idiot! It’s a portrait! She’s dead, of course. Died after his birth," someone answered._

_For days he couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. Of course, his own parents were far, far from perfect. Eileen had always been strange and Tobias was hard to understand when he was drunk, but at least they were usually there for him, Severus realised. In their weird, confused way they both loved him and even in his most rebellious moments he knew it._

_Severus sometimes hated his parents and thought they existed only to make him miserable or to make him cringe with embarrassment. Eileen bought him expensive herbal shampoos and forced him to use them, while Tobias tortured him for hours with boring speeches of conspiracy, convinced Paul McCartney was dead and replaced by a doppelgänger, or that aliens were living amidst them, disguised as humans. When Eileen or Severus argued with him, Tobias would invariably tell them that no one would think magic was possible and yet he was married to a witch and had a wizard for a son. It was impossible to argue with him, and it drove Severus mad. But still, he loved his parents and knew they loved him._

_He wondered about Lucius, his strange coldness. How would it be to grow up so alone, in such a vacuum?_

_A week later he wandered through the long corridors again, inexplicably drawn to the beautiful portrait. Before he rounded the last corner he heard a familiar voice, but devoid of the usual arrogance. He carefully peaked around and saw Malfoy sitting on the floor opposite his mother's portrait. He was too far away to understand what he was speaking about, but he could see the sad, lost expression in Malfoy's face._

_Malfoy might be Head Boy, rich and wealthy, admired by many, of which Severus still felt jealous, but for the first time he read that absent, lonely gaze of Lucius correctly and knew that he had never met anyone as alone in the world as Malfoy was. He was the loneliest young man he had ever seen, alone even when amidst his many admirers and sycophants.  
_

**2009**

When Severus arrived at Tesco's, Malfoy was waiting for him outside, sitting on the bench across the street.

"I took the evening off," he explained, blinking like a lazy cat into the evening sun. His face looked bronzed and almost young in that light. He smiled and stood up, reaching out for Severus standing there stiffly in his black coat. Severus let go of the vial he was holding in his pocket and took Malfoy’s hand.  

"Shall we go, then?"  

Severus nodded and headed towards the alley where they usually Apparated.

"Let's walk," said Malfoy. "You wouldn’t mind, would you? The night is lovely and it’s very warm."

Severus agreed wordlessly and together they walked down the broad street. Malfoy was hanging on his arm, a rather shameless gesture, especially for someone with his manners, but Severus couldn’t bring himself to comment on it or to shake him off. Whatever little game Malfoy was playing now, let him have it, he thought.

 He remained mostly silent while Malfoy chatted away, in a silly, excited way, about Margaret, Sally and Miller, about the customers, who were either adorable or detestable, about his back that had begun to ache, and his joints that were becoming stiff.   Even in the dark hallway he didn't stop talking, and it occurred to Severus’ over-sensitive nerves that Malfoy was strangely nervous, anxious even.  

Malfoy locked the door, even rattled the doorknob. 

For a puzzling moment he pressed his forehead against it.

He went silent for a bit, looking around the apartment, then went to the window and gazed at the sky. He lifted his face and bathed in the last rays of the sunlight.   

Severus noticed that the apartment was so clean it looked bare.

Then, with a cheerful face Malfoy said, "Can I have a gin and tonic, please?"  

Severus went to the fridge, opened it and pulled out two cans, weighing them in his hand.

"I never understood why you drink this stuff, Malfoy."  

"I like the can. It's pretty," Malfoy said amiably. "And, I like the sound of it. Gin and tonic."  

He went to the bed and sat down, then reached out again and took Severus’ hand like before.  

"Can you call me Lucius? Only tonight?" He smiled, his face radiant, his eyes gleaming silver, and Severus felt a sharp, cutting pain in his chest, felt he couldn’t resist him. He swallowed then let himself be pulled onto the bed into Lucius’ arms.

"Thank you," Lucius whispered, then rubbed his nose affectionately against Severus’. He kissed him, pulling him closer.

Severus went, having no will to do otherwise. He inhaled Lucius’ warm smell, intoxicated.  

"For what?" Severus asked.  

Lucius didn’t reply, just continued kissing him in a way he had never done before. With affection, like a real lover would.  

This time Lucius took his time to undress. He folded his clothes neatly and put them on the chair. Severus realised that he saw Lucius doing so for the first time.  

When Severus began to take his coat off, Lucius took his hands into his own and stilled them with kisses, then he undressed him slowly and reverently. At last both were naked, standing beside the bed. Severus laid his hands on Lucius’ shoulders and gently pressed him onto the mattress. With his fingers, he carded Lucius’ hair until it was fanned out around his face on the pillow. The dusk erased the sharp edges of the shadows. Lucius' lips were slightly parted. Severus bent down and tasted them.   Lucius spread his legs and Severus slid into the warm space between, never taking his eyes off Lucius, who pushed himself up to rub against Severus’ cock. Severus smiled openly at him, feeling safer in the waning light, then kissed Lucius’ jaw, his throat, his collarbone. He planted kisses and little bites and licks around the pink nipple and sucked at it, closing his eyes when he heard Lucius moaning softly, and then continued to kiss the ribs and the soft white stomach, the hipbones and his navel. He kissed Lucius' cock, which was slender, looking so smooth and silky, as if made from ivory and milk, and quite beautiful. Severus stroked it lightly, tracing the gentle curve that fit perfectly on the soft swell of Lucius’ stomach. Reverently Severus touched it and, locking eyes with Lucius, licked it, moaning, and then took it into his mouth. Beneath him, Lucius stirred.  

"Oh," he gasped. "Severus."  

No one had ever spoken Severus’ name in quite that manner before, as if nobody else in the whole world mattered.

He wanted to taste everything, to touch him, hold him, to never let him go.   They were falling together, lost in the sweet darkness, murmuring to each other, whispering and gasping and ... Severus opened his mouth, forced his throat open and sucked Lucius’ cock deep down. Lucius cried out then reached for the lubricant to prepare himself.  Severus took the bottle from him, reaching down and bypassing Lucius’ arse to prepare his own hole, still sucking that beautiful cock. When he felt he was ready, he moved up to take Lucius’ gentle kiss on his forehead, his lips.  

Severus lifted himself up to sit astride Lucius’ thighs, then sank slowly down onto Lucius’ cock. Fuck. It hurt. And it felt so good and he wanted more and deeper _and oh Gods_ ... he heard Lucius moan and gasp.  Lucius slid his hands over him, over the back of his neck, his bare shoulders, the white arms. The love and the trust in Lucius’ gaze was unbearable to Severus.  

He rocked back and forth, back and forth, then when he began to lose control, lifted himself up and slammed down hard. Lucius gripped his hips, holding Severus, and pushed up into him, fucking him. He—they—cried out as the blinding wave rolled over him, the liquid fire pulling him under, and he held onto Lucius, to his Lucius, like a drowning man.   Lucius shuddered and trembled, and Severus could feel him coming inside him, could feel salty tears where their faces pressed together, only he couldn't tell if they were his or Lucius’.  

They held each other until the sun had dropped behind the building across the street, the evening sky pale, soft and grey. From outside they could hear voices from the street, car noise, buses.  

"I think I would like to have that drink now," Lucius said, smiling expectantly. "Please."  

Numbly Severus nodded.

It was time.

He got up and reached for the can, poured the sweet drink into a glass and opened the vial, emptying it inot the glass.

_It's not as hard as I thought it would be._

Severus held out the glass, but when Lucius moved to take it, he suddenly found he couldn’t let go, his fingers refusing to obey. He pulled the glass back. Lucius laughed softly, gently pried off his fingers and lifted the glass to his lips, gripping Severus’ hand firmly as if to keep him from taking the drink away.

He drank it down, emptied the entire glass, and in the way he put that glass on the night stand and looked at him, Severus realised he knew. Lucius took Severus’ hand and kissed it.

“Will I fall asleep?" he asked, smiling.   

“Not immediately," Severus said. "I ... it ... you will relax ... it will ... there won't be any pain. But, yes, you'll fall asleep."

Lucius sighed and burrowed himself further into Severus' embrace.  

"How long?" he asked.

"Not very long," Severus choked out.  

"Good," Lucius’ hand came up and gently traced the lines of Severus’ face, and he remembered the first time he had felt that touch.   "Hold me, please, love."

"If you knew ... why did you drink it?" Severus asked finally. He felt a slight tremor go through Lucius.

"Wolfe-Brown," Lucius murmured. "I Imperiused him to kill his wife. We left him for dead, but he survived. He was the prosecutor at my trial. He promised that if he ever became Minister, the first thing he would do was make sure I received the punishment I truly deserved. He forced me to take a vow not to take my life, threatening to kill Draco."

Lucius slung his arms around Severus.

“He wants to destroy Draco as well,” Lucius said. He looked up, his eyes dark and purple with the poison.

Severus couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

“I don’t deserve to die in peace," Lucius continued, “but Draco ... he was only a child. It was my fault he was marked and pulled into this nightmare. He’s suffered enough. He never wanted any of this.”  

Severus leaned down to gaze at Lucius’ face. His eyes were sparkling and his cheeks flushed, his lips an unnatural red.  “You wouldn’t refuse a dying man’s last wish, would you?” Lucius asked. "I know you’re honourable through and through, a Gryffindor underneath a thin skin of Slytherin.” He laughed, but his laugh was kind and affectionate. He caressed Severus’ face, as if unable to stop himself from touching him.  

“Please, protect him. You once did because Narcissa asked you, and now I ask you for this mercy. I held up my end of the bargain and let myself be killed by you rather than taking my own life, but Wolfe-Brown might still be infuriated about me slipping away.”  

When Severus said nothing, Lucius whispered, “ _Please_ , Severus, I am begging you.”  

Severus closed his eyes, managed to nod. The pain in his chest strangled him.  

“You knew from the beginning,” he said. “You knew from the beginning what I would do.”

Lucius traced Severus’ black eyebrows. “Forgive me, Severus. I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to kill me if I hadn’t given you reason.” 

He kissed Severus. 

“I didn’t betray Regulus; Bellatrix did. But, I did support Voldemort in his plans to kill the Potters, and I knew long ago, before you did, that Voldemort killed your father. So, you see, in the end I do deserve to die. I am not innocent.”  

By now the room was dark, the only light was the occasional diagonal stripe across the walls from passing cars.  

“I love you. I always did,” Lucius said. “I hated you for making me want you so much. I hated you for looking at Regulus in a way you never looked at me. You never looked at me like that. I wanted to make you pay for that.”

Severus said nothing. He stroked Lucius' hair.

"This potion ... it does make me quite chatty," Lucius said, uninhibited now by the poison. "Forgive me, will you?"  

"You always were quite talkative." Severus buried his face in Lucius’ hair, forcing himself to breathe.  

"I wasn't using Margaret," Lucius’ voice was only a whisper now. "She was very kind to me, especially in those first weeks and months when I was disoriented. She helped me keep my job and find my way around and she was my friend ... the only one I had.”  

Severus cast a Lumos and soft light filled the room.   

“I tried to live, to go on ... but I just ... can’t,” Lucius breathed. "When we were young ... the world was a beautiful place, waiting for us to take it. Muggles ... they are so strong. I never knew."

Severus felt Lucius’ arms tighten around him, Lucius’ face now close to his.

“I killed too many. I killed men, raped women, tortured children. I was convinced back then that I did the right thing, but in the back of my mind I knew that one day I would have to pay."

He swallowed.

"To me they used to be faceless back then. Like cattle. But now, all I see is their faces. I cannot bear to look into their eyes.”  

Severus thought of all the times he had visited Malfoy at work and how he had always worked quietly, his gaze on the items he scanned. It was ironic that he had interpreted that as a remain of Malfoy's Pureblood arrogance, the refusal to lock eyes with the despised Muggles.

There was silence for a minute or two, then Lucius whispered, “I love you, Severus,” and took a deep breath. “I have loved and desired you for so long that I cannot even say when it began. I believe I never wanted anything, any one else more than I wanted you. I should have told you earlier. We could have been happy," Lucius smiled against Severus’ cheek. "So foolish to be afraid all your life. There is nothing to be afraid of."  

Severus whispered, "I love you, too, Lucius."

“Say it more often then, please. Don't be frugal with these things. How silly we were. Always struggling, fighting, believing in different causes, always in need of a cause to live for, to die for. All there is in the end ... is this ..." and he pressed a kiss to Severus’ chest.

"I love you," Severus repeated. "I love you."

He could see that Lucius' eyes were grey and dull like pebbles. Lucius hummed a melody, one that struck Severus as being strangely familiar, one that sounded like a lullaby. He stared unseeing at the ceiling and smiled, lost in memories that by now enveloped his dying mind.

"We could run away together. We could go to the continent and live together. I'll show you Italy, France, and Austria. You will love Vienna! And once we're of age we can return to England. Father can't do anything. And then ..."  

His face was white like alabaster and he began shivering. Severus pulled the blanket over them both and cast a Warming charm. Lucius grew silent, but he was still smiling and his hands made small grasping movements, his legs shifting beneath the blanket. Finally he was still, the poison paralysing his legs.

"It's late now," Lucius said, barely audible. "Time to end the game."

Severus held him.

 Lucius managed to raise his hand and found Severus’ cheek. His breathing was getting shallow, his eyes wide and unseeing into Severus’ face.  

“I love you, my Lucius,” Severus whispered, gently kissing his forehead. He was blinded by his tears.

"Good night, my love," Lucius answered.

"Don't go yet," Severus begged. 

Lucius didn't reply. His eyes were half-lidded, gazing at Severus’ face. Severus cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss onto his slightly parted lips.  

Lucius Malfoy was dead.   

 

Potter was waiting for him in the office, nearly asleep on the sofa. When Severus entered, he got to his feet, stumbling over his robes.  

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You look ... like shite, actually."  

Severus ignored him and went to his desk. “You’re here because of Lucius Malfoy’s records,” he stated.   Potter looked at him, as if he didn't know what he was talking about.

"Oh ... that, yes that too ... " he said then stopped. "No, I am here because of something different."  

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I looked at some of the documents in the Top Secret archives."  Potter pulled out some parchment and laid them on top of the stack of Lucius Malfoy's trial documents. “Did you know that Wolfe-Brown's wife had been Meredith Bonacieux?” he asked. “She was tortured and killed by Death Eaters.”

Severus refused to even glance at the parchments and instead settled his gaze upon Potter.

"Wolfe-Brown was the prosecutor in Malfoy’s case, remember?" Potter nodded to himself. "I think there were some irregularities in the handling of the case."   

"It doesn't matter any longer," said Severus.  

"It does. Wolfe-Brown’s family was powerful enough to hush the Daily Prophet. That’s corruption, abuse of power.”

"Do you mean that Malfoy didn't commit the crimes he was accused of? And that Wolfe-Brown’s wife didn’t die a painful, terrible death?" Severus was very tired, Potter's restlessness irritating him.  

"The trial still wasn't fair," Potter repeated. "Everyone deserves a fair trial. Even monsters."

"Life is not fair," Severus said, not because he really meant to say such a stupid thing, but because of a memory that floated up from the depths of his mind.

Potter stared at him.

"Malfoy is a criminal, but like everyone else he deserves a fair trial. The prosecutor was biased."  

"Countless people suffered from Malfoy's crimes. Do you want to exclude them all? As they were ... affected by them, are they not the ones who should judge Malfoy's actions?"  

Potter looked out of the window.

"No," he said. "They can, and should, be witnesses. They cannot hold court over him."

“So, if you would open Malfoy's case anew, what will happen to Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley?” Severus asked. “Are they not getting married soon? What will a scandal like this cause?”  

Potter fell silent. He looked at him, his eyes narrowed and chewing his lower lip.  

“Wolfe-Brown will become Minister. That is as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow,” Severus said. “Once he’s in power, he will not rest until he destroys Draco Malfoy—”  

“But Draco Malfoy was sixteen, and it was his father who committed the crimes,” Potter interrupted him.

"It won't matter to Wolfe-Brown," said Severus.

Potter looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“— but if those records were to ... vanish ... Draco Malfoy would be safe,” Severus continued as if Potter hadn’t spoken.  

Potter gaped at him.  “V-vanish? Are you ...?” he paused, remembering who he was talking to.

Severus raised his chin.

“First you make me steal highly confidential court records, and now you want me to destroy them?” Potter began pacing. “This is insane!”

He stopped and looked at Severus, who observed him from behind the desk. 

“Insane,” he repeated. “How did we end up in this conversation?”  

He took up his pacing again. “I don’t even like Malfoy. His father tried to murder Ginny. I still can’t get it through my mind that she is actually going to marry the git!”  

Severus only leant back. “Well, then, do it for Ms. Weasley. Do you wish her to have to have to go through this ordeal?”  

That did it. Potter shrugged, defeated. "I hate that I am doing this, that I let you make me do this.” He frowned then sighed. “I’ll leave your office now and give you until six o’clock tonight to do ... whatever you have to do.”

Severus inclined his head in thanks.

“Most gracious of you, Harry.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Right. I need to go and talk to Ron and Hermione and bully them into helping me. If you’re right and Wolfe-Brown is intent on getting Lucius Malfoy, we might lose our jobs.”

“It’s only _misplacing_ records from a trial that took place ten years ago. You’ll live,” Severus said lazily. “You will forever hold this against me and yourself, but you’ll live.”

“I really don’t like this,” Potter said again, more to himself, “but you’re right. It wouldn’t help anyone to wake the dead."

With a last shrug, Potter went to the door, dragging his dishevelled robes behind him. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder at Severus. "Speaking of, do you have an idea how Lucius Malfoy is these days? I hear he’s still living in London."  

 

**2010**

The new Minister’s office was not as pompous as it had been when Fudge and Scrimgeour had occupied it. The day after moving into his office, Wolfe-Brown ordered the soft rugs, expensive wooden cabinets and gilded mirrors to be removed. It was almost barren now, fitted only with a grey office desk, a plain, wooden chair in front of it, a lamp and a filing cabinet. No ornaments adorned any inch of it, the walls stripped of pictures and laid bare.  

When Severus knocked, Wolfe-Brown didn’t look up.  

“Ah, Mr. Snape, please, do come in and have a seat.” Wolfe-Brown scratched something out with red ink, then wrote into the margins between the lines and finally stamped it while Severus waited patiently.

“So!” he said, finally looking up and giving Severus a bright smile. “We have met on various occasions, but I have to say I do feel honoured to have a war hero like you sitting in my office.”   

His smile did not reach his eyes.  

“Thank you very much, sir,” mumbled Severus insincerely.  

“Head Auror Potter has only words of praise for you, although I have heard you can be intimidating at times, yes?” The Minister winked jovially.  Severus tried to look at him, not daring to use Legilimency. One attempt within the Ministry would likely cost him his job.  

“I can see what he means. You’re quite an impressive man,” the Minister continued with his unsettling smile.  

When Severus didn’t reply an uncomfortable silence settled.  

“Well, then,” said the Minister, dropping his smile like a guillotine. “As you can imagine I did not invite you here to exchange pleasantries.”

Severus only nodded.

The Minister inclined his head and gazed at him under bushy eyebrows like a stern grandfather. “I need to discuss a certain former Death Eater with you.”  

“I see,” said Severus. “There are several former Death Eaters, of course, most of them imprisoned in Azkaban. Maybe, if you would be a little more detailed about this ...”  

“Lucius Malfoy,” the Minister said. “A friend of yours.”  

Severus didn’t smile. “I haven’t seen Mr. Malfoy since before his trial, Minister.”  

“Oh, really? Well, then I’m sorry.” The Minister frowned. “That’s quite a while ago then, isn’t it? When was Malfoy’s trial? 1999 or 1998?”

He slapped his forehead. “What a fool I am! Then, you cannot really help me, can you? I mean ... 1998! That’s a long time ago, and here I thought you and he were friends.”  

There was silence again, then Wolfe-Brown furrowed his brows as if remembering something. “But, wait! Now I remember why I was under the impression that you and Malfoy are still in contact ...” he broke off and began rummaging in his desk drawer.

Severus didn’t move a muscle in his face.  

“Oh, here it is!” exclaimed Wolfe-Brown, as he pulled out some photographs. In one of them Severus was sitting on a bench, dressed in a fine Muggle wool coat and a hat. Only the slight movement of his hair in the breeze betrayed the fact that it was a magical photograph. In the other, he was standing in front of Tesco’s talking to Malfoy.  

“They looked so recent, you must forgive me,” said the Minister with a false smile. “They look almost as if they’d been taken only a while ago. I mean, such a nice coat ... you’re quite fashionable aren’t you? And Malfoy looks a little old here. I could just ask the MLE of course. They can determine the date within seconds.”

Severus looked coldly at the Minister.

“What is it that you want from me, sir?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.   The minister continued smiling cheerfully.

“I want Malfoy,” he said casually, while caressing the paper of the photograph. “And if you’re so much as thinking of attempting to protect your murderous fucktoy, I will make your life here hell. I promise you, by my wife’s grave, that monsters like Malfoy will not go unpunished.”

“Lucius Malfoy has passed away, Minister,” Severus said smoothly.  Wolfe-Brown took another photograph from the drawer. It showed Malfoy exiting Tesco’s with Miller and Margaret, laughing about something they said.  Severus looked into Wolfe-Brown’s eyes and noticed that they looked dead.  

“This is not Malfoy,” he said. “Have you attempted to search for his magical signature?”

The Minister said nothing for a while, but the knuckles on his hands turned white.

“What have you done, Snape?” he asked. “How did you accomplish this?”   

Severus stood, smoothing his robes.

“I am very sorry,” and he was astonished that he really was, “but Lucius Malfoy doesn’t exist any longer. The man in the picture is Mr. Leo Williams, a Muggle. Of course, you hold no rights whatsoever over him since Muggle individuals don't fall in any way under the jurisdiction of Wizarding Britain.” He paused. “As I said, Lucius Malfoy is dead. Let the dead rest, sir.”

He turned and walked toward the door.  

“You will pay for this,” Wolfe-Brown said. “And believe me, I don’t care if you chose to switch sides, I know your kind, Snape. I know how your devious mind works and you won’t ever deceive me. You and your Death Eater friends will get what you deserve.”  

“I am sure I will,” said Severus without even bothering to turn around. “In the end we all pay for what we do.”    

 

 **Epilogue**  

The light hurt.  

"Where ..."  

He tried to rise but fell back, gasping for air.  

"Oh my God!" someone said. "He's awake!"  

Then much closer a woman said, "You're awake!"  

He opened his eyes again and the woman hurried to his bedside. She had a kind face, like someone he knew but couldn’t remember.  

He blinked.  

He was afraid. He felt the keen absence of something and wanted to grasp it. It was as if he was underwater, struggling to get to the surface.  

"Hush," said the kind woman. "'S alright, dear."

People in white came in, and the room was suddenly filled with murmurs and voices and the scratching sound of pens over paper.  

"Who ... ?"  

Someone flashed a light into his eye, then moved it back a bit.

"Look at the light, please."  

"What is your name?"  

He opened his mouth to tell them, but closed it again.  

His name?

It had been there, just before, he thought, but he didn't know. Had he forgotten? He frowned.  

He shook his head.

The woman turned around to one of the men and said, "Leo Williams. His name is Leo Williams."

He looked at her, and she squeezed his hand.  

"I'm Margaret. You don’t remember me, but I’m your friend."  

He nodded, then smiled.   

 

fin

 

__  
Come live with me and be my love,  
And we will all the pleasures prove  
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,  
Woods or steepy mountain yields. 

_And we will sit upon the rocks,_  
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,  
By shallow rivers to whose falls  
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

_And I will make thee beds of roses_  
And a thousand fragrant posies,  
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle  
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; 

_A gown made of the finest wool_  
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;  
Fair lined slippers for the cold,  
With buckles of the purest gold; 

_A belt of straw and ivy buds,_  
With coral clasps and amber studs:  
And if these pleasures may thee move,  
Come live with me and be my love. 

_The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing_  
For thy delight each May morning:  
If these delights thy mind may move,  
Then live with me and be my love.  

_'The Passionate Shepherd to His Love' by Christopher Marlowe  
_

**Author's Note:**

> _Credit: Excerpt from a poem attributed to J. T. Wiggins, Mary E. Fry, Marianne Reinhardt or Stephen Cummings._


End file.
